The Warriors 2: NYC Grudge
by Rezdude
Summary: Well a year has passed in New York and the Warriors still need to keep their game and gang together. Will Vermin make a good surrogate for Swan while he's out? Will Ajax ever get out of the big house? And what is Rembrandt up to lately?
1. Posers

The Warriors 2: NYC Grudge

By: Ryan Blank

Original _The Warriors _characters and ideas: Walter Hill and Rockstar Games.

Chapter 1: Posers

1:48 AM

May 13, 1980

Coney Island, C.I., The Big Coney, whatever you want to call it. To some it's just another tourist trap for chumps from New England, or families whose kids "need" to ride the "Wonder Wheel". But Coney is my home, my turf, and my life. I've only been a Warrior for six months, but I feel like the lieutenants are finding me to be more than just a solider-ing "Young Blood". Let me just say that I can really handle a rumble if somebody wants to throw down. Even Snow says that my martial arts are top notch.

Things have changed a lot since that big night where New York froze as the "Magic Man" Cyrus took the fall. The Gramercy Riffs got us the rep we deserve when they found the Rouge responsible for their leader's death. Needless to say, the Rouges have been wiped off the map. Swan, our old warlord, delved too far into his relationship with this chick, Mercy, and has a ring on his finger. But they moved to Las Vegas and left the rest to us. Now Vermin is warchief and running all of Coney. Protection money has gotten us a new TV, weight set and even a vending machine for beer and cigarettes. Everybody has put on more muscle, even our artist Rembrandt. Cochise has offered to teach us how a Warrior cuts a rug, but nobody seemed interested. Yet not too much else has changed according to Vermin.

Two o' clock AM rolled around as I talked with Snow about our next move on the Electric Eliminators.

"But Cochise is right," he explains, "Those shiny yellow pricks are cramping our style anyway. Besides, they already tried to army through our turf once before."

"Regardless man, a move on them would get us some nice subway control and if we can get up there, the Hi-Hats can't bring us down again. Plus the Panzers are a pretty rough set, ya dig? We might need to show them we can bop with the best of New York."

"Man, the Panzers ain't nothin'!" I criticized.

Snow just scoffed, smiled and walked away.

Suddenly Rembrandt enters the hangout for the first time that night.

"Hey Picasso," shouted Vermin, "You mind spending time with your gang for once? This is the third time this week! And it's Tuesday!"

"Sorry warchief," said Rembrandt, "It was really important."

"Well then why don't you give us a word little man," asked Cowboy.

"Um..." Rembrandt paused, "It's kinda a secret."

This was followed by some "ohh's".

"Shit, I know what's goin' on man," Cochise pointed out, "Rembrandt's got himself a little lady!"

"Hey shut up," Rembrandt protested, but was being shaken and hooted at.

"So what's her name bro?" Cochise continued, "She stacked? She like it rough?"

"Hey, come on." Rembrandt tried again to quiet them, "I'm not Ajax."

The laughter died down slowly after the comment.

"Ajax man... what you think he's doing now?" Cowboy asked staring off at the window. Ajax was one of the roughest and toughest soldiers to ever put on a red Warriors vest. A huge man with a rock hard build, he would throw punches before even knowing how much cash is in your pockets. Never one to back down to a fight, and always one to hit it off with the ladies, he was one of our most valuable players for the time he lasted. But he got busted by a lady with handcuffs, a whistle and a link to the cops in the park in the exodus from the big meeting a year ago.

"Let's just hope he ain't the chick in the relationship," Vermin said, "If you know what I mean, eh?"

We all enjoyed a good laugh and downed another beer. I was getting ready for our visit north to the Eliminators. Snow and me took turns beating the punching bag with a heavy barrage of punches and kicks.

"So Snow," I asked, "your warlord tonight. Who's solidering?"

"Check it," Snow answered, "We got my man Cochise, you, me, Cody, Rex, Crash and Lenny. Subway leaves in half an hour."

"So what are our odds?"

"These lame fucks don't have a chance. Buncha' skinny white boys in shiny jackets their mommas' probably made for them."

"You packin'?"

"Don't need to man. Got arms and legs, dig?"

"Any odds we'll run into cops?"

" Yo man what's with all the questions?"

"Sorry, I just don't know these cats too well."

"Turk, you gotta' calm down. I got your back, honest."

"Thanks man."

Snow was our current badass brawler. He joined up with Ajax and showed New York that he could fight. A man of few words, he was tall with an even taller afro and a cool headband. He must have been at least half black, but it was hard to tell. He was not as well built as Ajax, but knew his martial arts to a very deadly point. That is probably why we hit it off so well. Maybe I'll rumble against him some day and see if I got what it takes.

"Three a' clock," he said, "Let's bounce."

Very few people roamed the street at this hour, especially when they knew we had the streets. Anybody who saw us turned the other direction when we gave them a stern look. Coney patrons have learned to fear us by now, and we would not want it any other way.

At the platform, we waited for the subway to pick us up. Cochise was cracking his knuckles and then his neck. He was another early Warrior. Originally from Harlem, he showed Cleon and the guys that he can bop and groove to his own style. Not the brightest bulb on the team, but resourceful nevertheless. If anything, he knows the streets better than most of us and can negotiate with the right people when the time is right.

We finally boarded the subway and headed toward Soho. I read the map on the wall to see how many stops we had before Broadway.

After fifteen minutes, our stop was next and Snow gave us some words.

"When we get there," he said, "Don't go lookin' for trouble with the Panzers if you see any. And definitely avoid any and all Hi-Hats. They really have it in for us and you never know what they're plannin'."

The Hi-Hats were one of the odder gangs in New York. They dress like mimes in top hats and pack knives; not the most pleasing image. They had it in for us since last year when we totally trashed their leader's art gallery. The fat, stuttering asshole, Chatterbox, was less than pleased. He ordered an attack on Coney, but ended up dead. But that goes without saying, you don't go messing with the Warriors' rep. As of now Chatterbox's understudy, Crackerjack, has not even touched us. But like Snow said, "they really have it in for us".

We got off at our stop and took to the streets. Cochise thought to check near the apartments. We roamed for a while until we came near the outskirts of a parking lot.

It was there we found three Eliminators under a streetlight near a run down warehouse we assumed was their hideout. One of them saw us and drew attention to the other two. They stood their ground as we approached. Cochise stepped ahead of us and spoke.

"You suckers don't look like you know how ta' bop," he said.

One of the Eliminators gave him a hardly threatening evil eye. He was medium height, black hair that went down to his neck and a purple t-shirt under his classic shiny yellow jacket.

"You chumps won't get far marching on our turf," he replied, "Now how about you pack up and leave before our soldiers take you out."

"Don't you get it man?" Snow said, "You fools are the lamest outfit around. Buncha' honkies prancin' around in yo' stupid yellow jackets. You think the other sets take you seriously?"

The Eliminator stumbled on his words. His face was turning red as he marched over to us with the other two.

"Your gonna' regret comin' up here Warriors," he warned.

He stared down Snow for about a minute. The guy in the center looked ready for blood, but the other two seemed edgy. Then the center Eliminator raised his hands to shove Snow. But Snow grabbed his hands and twisted them upside-down as we heard a crack. He then launched him into the warehouse wall with a side kick. He crashed with a metal thud noise as he fell to his knees. I flew at the guy on the left with my elbow, but he covered his face. We stood off as I landed a few clean punches to his face and stomach. Fearing his loss, he tried to kick me in the balls but missed. At this, Rex grappled him from behind into a half nelson. I then smashed his mouth with my elbow. This time it was a direct hit. The last guy tried to run, but was cut off by Cochise who threw him against the warehouse wall. As he rose he was stricken in the head by a trashcan Cody had thrown. The first Eliminator suddenly grabbed me from behind and tried to pull my arms out of the socket by pushing on my neck in a full nelson. Luckily he was weakened and I managed to grab his hair and pull him over my shoulder as he landed hard on the ground. Lenney kicked him in the head one more time for good measure.

"Come on," Cochise demanded, "Let's waste some more! I'm just getting warmed up."

We continued to walk toward the warehouse and stopped. There were sounds from inside. Snow put his ear against the warehouse wall.

"I hear music," he said, "Crappy techno music."

"Hey I like techno." Lenney interjected. We just turned our heads and walked to the door. I had the honor of kicking down the door.

Inside we saw a bunch of the Eliminators gathered around in a circle. A few were on the outside talking with some chicks and one of them was disc jockey. In the middle of the circle, beneath the disco ball and black lights was an Eliminator "break dancing" like a poser. If there was one thing Cochise hated it was a poser. He wasted no time picking up a beer bottle on the floor and hurling it at the disco ball. The Eliminators covered their heads from the glass and then looked in our direction.

"You call that spinnin' and twirlin' shit dancing?" Cochise asked loudly.

The Eliminator that was dancing walked to him angerly.

"I suppose you know how to move?" he questioned, "Well then let's see it fool. You gonna' dance, or are you gonna'..." he did the wave with his shoulders and brought out his arm to Cochise's face, "Talk to the hand?"

"Ho-lee shit," Cochise said slowly, "You cats are even weaker than I thought!"

Suddenly the music started. Once again it was a funky techno beat, almost space aged. Cochise started off with some swaying and hand rolling, then the wave to finger point. The Eliminator slid side to side with some short kicks and then a strange tap dance to finger point. This time Cochise switched his legs back and forth, spun and sunk down to a split on the floor. He then picked himself up by the collar and pointed to the Eliminator. Us Warriors cheered for Cochise and gawked at his opponent. The Eliminator did a weak version of "The Robot" then popped out his arms and spun. We booed at him and watched Cochise finish him off. He did a sort of fake faint to the floor where he landed on his hands behind him and proceeded to spin on his back for longer than I thought possible. He then lifted his legs up and spun on his head until he pushed back up to his feet. Loud cheers from us and even some Eliminators followed.

"Like I said," Cochise told them, "You suckers don't have a clue. Your set is weak!"

"You really think so Warriors?" yelled a voice from behind us. We looked to see one of their soldiers lock the door we came in from. "Let's see how tough you really are!"

"Oh shit!" Rex said, "It's a trap!"

But we tried to keep cool and stood in a circle watching the yellow jackets close in on us.

"Okay here's the plan," Snow whispered, "We bolt in different directions and grab a weapon or something. Move quick and don't get wrecked young bloods."

The Eliminators got closer with hatred in their eyes and evil in their smiles.

"Now!" Snow yelled as we broke off in a scattered formation. I rushed one of the Eliminators and ran for a chair on the floor. As I was attacked I swung it hard as it broke over an Eliminators head. I kicked another one out of the way to grab a remaining leg of the chair and battered a guy in the stomach before I whacked him across the face. As I tried to hit another, he ducked and grabbed a chair leg. He thrust in into my chest and I yelled in pain dropping my weapon. He swung for my head, but I managed to avoid him and tackle him to the floor. He pushed me as hard as he could but I kept grip and smacked him with my elbow twice. He finally stopped moving as blood flowed from his mouth. Then the Eliminator I had kicked earlier kicked me in the spine from behind. I fell to the floor and tried to find my attacker. He ran at me trying to body slam me but I was able to push out my leg and launch him over me. He crashed into a wall and landed headfirst.

I saw Cochise and Snow smash two Eliminators into each other. Lenney squared off with another and caught him with a vicious right hook. Crash was busy throwing an Eliminator into a table and body slamming him to break it (he could be the next Ajax). Cody was rubbing his shoulder in the corner around some fallen soldiers and I caught Rex stomping on another.

"Come on," Snow said, "Let's get outta' here."

As we left, Rex marked a red "W" on the wall with his spray paint over one of the Eliminators' tags. By now it was our calling card, "Warrior red".

We walked out of the warehouse together and talked about whose knock out was the best. Suddenly Snow looked up and saw somebody watching us. He was a good distance away when he turned and ran off. He had a painted white face, a red shirt, blue pants and a black top hat. He was unmistakably one of the Hi-Hats. I wondered what that dude was doing alone looking at us. Maybe they heard the rumble and came down to secure their turf. In any case it did not matter. We caught the four o' clock train back to Coney Island. We were a little bumped and bruised, but it was not too bad for one night of army-ing.


	2. Spread the Word Around

Chapter 2: Spread the Word Around

12:08 AM

May 14, 1980

"Okay boppers," said the DJ on the radio in our hangout, "Here's the latest score in the city. The A.C.'s let two get by when some new recruits lost a fight with the 'Boys in Blue' down at the train yards. Lucky for the Moonrunners it wasn't a double play. Down in Soho, the Eliminators hit up a real slugfest with the Coney Island Warriors. I'm getting word that the Crew from Coney really has some style on the dance floor, but not with boppin'. Sorry babies, but nobody likes a bully. And finally, the Colt 45s have renewed their truce with the Stonebreakers. Sounds like the goths are cookin' up a curveball. Stay tuned to the streets cause them boys are back in town. But do be careful boppers. And stay solid... _Adios_."

The radio then began to play Thin Lizzy's _The Boys are Back in Town_.

"What the fuck was that about man?" Cochise asked angrily, "No bopping talent? And who's she callin' bullies?"

"I take it you had to wreck them saps last night," Vermin suggested, "Am I right?"

"Those dudes were askin' for it," I told him.

"Besides man," Snow said, "They won't be messin' with us no more."

We started to engage in a conversation about what happened last night. Cochise was excited to announce how well he busted moves as well as heads. I was still a little soar, mostly in my fists and wrists. The rest of the guys had about the same damage luckily enough. Cody got a mean blood blister on his leg and Cochise's eye looked a little swollen, but nothing more.

"Hey what's up with those Colts anyway?" Cowboy asked changing topics.

"Man, I don't really mind them," Snow said, "It's those Stonebreakers that freak me out. I hear they're all sadists! They meet in Central Park and drink blood or something."

The Stonebreakers did not seem like a very well built set, however, they might make a bopper back down to a fight. They paint their faces black and white in the form of fangs, flames and horns. Their arms are tattooed with massive demonic art. Worse yet, they construct their own weapons out of scrap metal (they must have guy in the steel industry). Lately I had seen them with maces, pickaxes and even some short swords. Their leader, Mato, is the creepiest of all. He always hides his face beneath the pelt of a bear with its mouth over his head. He also fashioned some strange horns atop the pelt. Then from the bear head to his chest, he has a tattoo of blood dripping down his front side.

"I heard they burned a guy alive when they caught him," Lenney told us.

"Well actually guys," Vermin said, "I wanted to talk about them."

We all looked at him. Just talking about them made my spine tingle, like hearing a high-pitched squeak of nails on a chalkboard.

"That whole thing about the truce could mean big money. I've seen a lot of sets come together for heists and crap like that. We should scout their turf tonight."

"Bullshit man," I interjected, "You're sending us on a suicide mission."

"I know, I know," Vermin explained, "Which is why I'm going too. Cowboy and Snow, your in as well. Turk and Rex, get movin'. Now let's see... who else?"

Once again the back door to the hangout opened as Rembrandt walked in late. If he was trying to be discrete he blew it. He looked quite embarrassed when we all watched him walk in.

"Well if it isn't Romeo," Cowboy said as Rembrandt walked by him, "She ain't getting pregnant is she? Can't have our artist being a daddy."

We laughed like the night before as Rembrandt tried to hush us and explain himself.

"As long as you're here little man," Vermin told him, "You can be the sixth recruit going up to Central Park with us."

"Oh shit," Rembrandt said, "Colt 45s' turf."

"And the Stonebreakers," Snow informed him, "They back together, and we gotta' check it out."

"And guess what?" Vermin asked in an obnoxious sort of way, "You just elected yourself Warlord tonight little man!"

We all cheered and laughed as Rembrandt looked off in disbelief. By now he was a veteran Warrior, but he still was not the best man for the task.

"Alright," he finally accepted with some confidence, "Let's go then."

Rembrandt had been our artist for over a year now. He was a skinny white boy with puffy black hair and a red ascot on his neck. He was not the brightest bulb in the gang, nor was he the bravest, but he was smart enough to keep himself out of obvious danger. He was also a very experienced artist (hence the name). He has bombed with the best and even got our name all-city when he tagged some huge Warriors burners on some fresh trains. Now nobody can travel the city without seeing our names. But none of us actually knew why he kept showing up late. We all naturally kept our heads in the gutter, but I considered whether or not it might have been a serious matter. Or maybe he did not want us to know about it out of fear.

We caught the two o' clock subway up to central park. As usual the platforms were empty when we got on.

I looked to Rex as we rode to our destination. He, like me, was a little shaken by last night. Him and me go all the way back to junior high school when we first met. By high school we both ran away from home and lived off some money we got doing chores for people in our apartment complex. Just a few months ago, we joined up with the Warriors. Our initiation took place in Riverside where we had to steal two bats from the Baseball Furies. They were a rough, silent, gang that wore baseball uniforms and carried bats. Each of them also had a creepy painted face. Our challenge was to steal the bats and duct tape them to the heads of two Furies. With the tape in hand we had set out to complete the initiation.

As we had searched the baseball park they frequented, we found a few wooden bats and stole two of them. With half the challenge behind, we had discovered a trio of furies near the bleachers smoking. They must have thought we were a few punks looking for a fight and they would not back down to a challenge. Even though there had been three Furies against two of us, we had made short work of them with only a handful of blows. Finally, we had removed their caps, taped up the bats, and as an added bonus, taped all three of them to the bleachers. When Vermin saw our work, he laughed and congratulated us. The next night, we were wearing the colors of a Warrior. It was the red leather vest with "WARRIORS" embroidered on the top of the back and a winged skull beneath the letters. It was simple, yet provoking. But maybe I am a little bias.

"Alright fellas' gather round," Vermin announced to us as the subway neared our stop, "Try not to be seen tonight. This is strictly spying; so don't be looking for trouble, especially with them goths. Pay attention to detail, 'cause we might be making some bread from this info."

Central Park was an expansive area. I had trouble believing we would find the Colts and the Stonebreakers nearby. We searched around for soldiers, voices or burners.

Suddenly I spotted a Stonebreaker tag on the back of a sign for private property. The tag resembled a stone diamond shape with an eyeball cracked open and bleeding silver blood. In the upper left-hand corner it read "STONE" in big bold letters; in the bottom right, "BREAKERS" in the same font. Rembrandt wasted no time in spray painting a red "W" over the center of the graffiti.

Then Cowboy said he heard a guitar strumming to his right. We continued on and sure enough, we located a fire where the two gangs had a meeting. Rembrandt instructed us to get under a large evergreen tree for cover. We negotiated our way under the branches as silently as we could. The pine needles pricked my knees as we watched the meeting through the semitransparent branches.

"I know our turf is in an awkward location," said on of the Colts wearing a long sleeved denim jacket, "But that's why we have to stick together. Cyrus was right about us pitting each other against one another. Both of our cliques have built the rep we need to make it. All we have to do is build up the trust of some other big outfits and we'll be good to go."

The Stonebreaker leader, Mato, stood to talk. "Then it is settled..." he paused as one of his gang members played a few heavy strums from an electric guitar, "I understand there is a representative here to voice his concern..." again there were heavy strums from the gang member, "You say you are from the 'Hi-Hearts'?"

"It's the Hi-Hats," yelled the same mime character we had seen on Eliminator turf last night, "My leader, Crackerjack wanted you to support us on our next invasion. After heavy deliberation, he has decided what needs to be done. The first part of the plan is to hit a hardware store, the biggest one in New York."

"I told ya' we could make some bread off this," Vermin whispered to us.

"I need our soldiers to get heated for the next step. We must recruit as many gangs to fight on our side as we can. That's why we need your support. We need all of you to spread the word about our army."

"And what's in it for us?" asked a Colt 45.

The Hi-Hat turned to him; "We are prepared to offer a great deal of cash if you help. We will give you five thousand tonight, and five thousand when it's all over. You have my word."

"Is there a third step in this brother," asked Mato followed by a short guitar riff.

"Step three will be to let them know we want a fight. I know where their turf is and I can walk it alone if I need to. In the mean time, we will prepare the soldiers for battle. I fear the plan will spread quickly to them, but no matter. If they want to build an army of their own I will not stop them. The final step is to rally the troops and attack."

A Stonebreaker laughed and asked why they need so many men to take out one gang.

"I'm only telling you guys what I was told to say," said the Hi-Hat, "But Crackerjack does not want this to be a small conflict. He wants an all out war. If you think about it, what gang doesn't want to fight in a war? At least my gang is ready to fight. So do you accept the offer?"

Mato stepped forward, "Ya' know, your pretty brave being a bearer with nobody to back you up. And with five grand? We could just jump you right now. But you guys seem pretty determined to take down this clique. So you have the Stonebreakers at your disposal." Mato turned to the Colt 45 leader, "What about you?"

"We're with you guys if you want this truce," said the member in the jean jacket, "Just sounds like a lot of work."

"It's also a lot of money," said the Hi-Hat.

"I don't know if I followed that," Cowboy whispered, "What gangs do the Hi-Hats want wasted?"

"Us, maybe," Snow said softly.

"They had their chance to waste us last year and they blew it," Rembrandt whispered, "They don't have any reason to hit us again."

"Well who would the Hi-Hats army through?" Cowboy asked in a loud voice than he had previously.

"I know the Furies did some damage to them before," Snow pointed out, "But they bopped past them. Crackerjack can command those clowns as well as Chatterbox did."

We kept talking about the Hi-Hats and the meeting. So much so that two of the Colts turned around and walked to the tree we hid under. I saw them get closer and wondered if we should stay still or make a break for it. They got closer and closer as I tried to hush the rest as quietly as I could. Then Vermin panicked and stood up as he yelled for us to run.

Without a chance to think clearly, I scrambled out of the tree with a pain in my knees from the pine needles. We heard the Colts yell about an intruder. This was followed by screams and war chants. All I could do was sprint as we tried to remember how to get back to the subway. We ran up hills, along sidewalks and through trees following Rembrandt.

"Guys..." he yelled at us winded, "Split up... and meet... at the station..."

Doing just that, we split into three duos. It was Vermin and Rembrandt, Cowboy and Snow, and Rex and I. We ran halfway across a bridge and jumped off it to the shore below as we ran blindly through darkness. I felt old spider webs press against my face when we ran under the bridge. I turned my head back to see about six Colt 45s running after us.

"In that tree," Rex instructed as he pointed to an old oak tree with a branch about five feet from the ground.

We climbed as fast as we could to escape our pursuers, but they would not give up so easily. With this in mind, I began stomping on the branch we first grabbed. Rex helped me crush the limb and we managed to break it before the Colts arrived. As it fell we climbed higher and watched the helpless gang members taunt us.

"Who are those fuckers?" one asked another.

"I dunno," he responded, "But as soon as we catch them, I'm gonna' rip their arms off and beat 'em in the face with 'em!"

"I got an idea," said the first, "You guys wait here."

He ran off in the direction we came in from. In the mean time we stared down the other Colt 45s. We stayed silent knowing that both our gangs could not do anything about the other. I wondered if the other Warriors made it back safely or not. Would they have waited for us? It may be safer for them if they took a separate subway home. In any case, we were surrounded and had nowhere to go. I also wondered where that other Colt went.

When he returned, he was with three Stonebreakers wielding what looked like battle-axes. Not surprisingly, they began hacking away at the tree trunk to finally catch us. I figured we had about five minutes before they finished the job, so I told Rex my plan to get out.

"When I say so," I instructed, "Drop down on a guy cuttin' the tree and make a run for it. Neither of us has time to turn back if one of us doesn't make it so try to stick close. You dig?"

Rex nodded, "I dig man."

The sound of the axes chopping the trunk was maddening. Couple that with the altitude we were at and it was enough to make your stomach churn. It was too bad we had to flee so soon. The park was actually quite a site to behold at night. The yellow lamps painted a trail along the sidewalks and shimmered in the calm waters around the area. But I was not truly concerned with this.

I looked to Rex who looked back to me. I counted off with my hand from one to three. On three we dropped down to the Stonebreakers. In the darkness, it can be very unsettling when you fall such a distance, especially onto a target so hard to see.

We crashed onto the axe men with a loud thump. Rex landed on two of them while I fell directly on the head of the third Stonebreaker. He fell to the ground breaking my fall as I ran wildly toward the station. I ran without considering the dangers at that point. The Colt 45s had bought enough time to bar the exits, but I did not care. I would fight if it meant surviving. That was what I was brought up by the streets to believe.

I finally saw the sign for the subway station. Out of breath and sweating madly, it was just what I needed to see. I sprinted down the stairs and jumped six of them to the floor. Then I saw Snow and Cowboy at the platform waiting for a ride. I waved as I ran to meet them.

"It's about time you made it," Cowboy said to me.

"Did Vermin... and Rembrandt... make it?" I asked out of breath.

"We saw 'em leave without us," Snow said, "But I can't blame 'em. These streets are heavy. Hey where's Rex?"

I knew something had been nagging me when I ran to the station. I had left Rex behind. I tried to tell myself that it needed to be done. He had known the risks as well as I did. It could have just as well been me left behind.

"I... don't know," I admitted, "He was with me before, but we got split up. I didn't have a choice."

"Man, you can't be goin' solo," Snow scolded me, "That's why you're in this gang."

"He's right young blood," Cowboy said, "But it's too late to get him now. Let's just hope he made it out in time."

When our subway arrived, I stepped in and turned around to see if Rex made it. Unfortunately, all I saw was an empty station. Then I heard screams and yelling from above us. Suddenly, what looked like a hundred Colt 45s and Stonebreakers flew down the stairs to the subway.

"Oh shit!" I yelled as I worked to shut the doors manually. I was able to close it early and it locked shut for departure. Some of the Colts kicked the train and others threw things. Then I saw a Stonebreaker with a bloody axe. Our eyes met as he smiled evilly and lifted the severed head of Rex. I yelped a little when I saw it. The Stonebreaker then held up Rex's vest and had it chopped in half by a fellow member. I felt cold and scared as the subway accelerated back to Coney Island.

"Oh my God," I said in disbelief, "I can't believe they wrecked him."

"You gotta' move on partner," Cowboy told me as he sat down next to me.

"We've known each other for almost ten years," I said sadly, "He was like a brother to me."

"Hey, Turk I've lost friends to the street before," Snow said as he sat down, "Everybody has by now. The streets are mean, dig? But that's why we gotta' stick close together. You never know who's gonna' wreck ya' when ya' let your guard down. Anyway, at least one of you didn't get wasted. No need for you to go down with him."

"Yeah, I guess your right man," I replied.

"Anyway," Cowboy changed topics, "What was up with that whole truce thing. The Hi-Hats are buying off the two gangs."

"Sounds like it," Snow said, "But who are they after? Man, what if they after the Riffs. That would be intense."

I just listened to the two of them talk about what the Hi-Hats were doing. I just sat and looked out the window every so often. I thought about revenge on the Stonebreakers. Would it be possible? I remembered what the guy looked like when he smiled at me. His distinct face paint and his yellow grin. Maybe some day he will be the one wasted. At this point, I did not care if it was by my hands or somebody else's. I just wanted him to pay for Rex.


	3. Scouting

Chapter 3: Patrol

12:28 AM

May 15, 1980

The taste of beer and pretzels began to bore me as I sat alone by the window. But I did not want to talk to anybody. I just felt the emptiness of existence like I never had before. It was almost a queasy feeling inside me. Every time I distracted myself from the situation, reality returned to haunt me.

I stared out the same window for some time watching some bums rummage through our trashcans. Is it possible they had lost a friend too? Maybe they outlived a buddy in Vietnam or on a police squad. I considered talking to one of them, but figured they were likely too drunk to complete a sentence. Luckily for me, I was sober enough to figure that out myself. Snow and Cowboy were right though. I really needed to move on. There are some things that can never return, no matter how hard it hurts. By now, every gang in New York knows this to be true.

I heard a chair pull up next to me and I turned to see who it was. It was Gina, a chick that stops by every once and a while for some action. Plenty of girls have stopped by our hangout since last year's big meeting. I had never really talked to her that often, however, I gave her a smooth, "Hey".

"Hey honey," she said in a surprisingly caring voice, "What's goin' on with you."

I sighed. "Not much," I told her, "I just got a lot on my mind is all. I feel like I don't got too much more time before I get wasted too."

"So you're quittin'?" she asked.

"Nah babe," I snickered, "Just thinkin'. And it's hurtin' my head."

She smiled, "Why don't you follow me. I'll take your mind off everything."

I smiled back, but declined. It really was not what I needed to clear my head. Then again, neither was the beer.

"You don't know what your missing honey," she said not sounding the least bit disappointed as she walked back to the radio.

"Yes I do," I muttered under my breath. Eventually, I decided to meet up with the rest of the boys. I was spending too much time moping about, and that was not healthy. I sat at a table with some other young bloods.

"So what was the park like man?" asked Lenney as soon as I had arrived.

"Freaky man," I told him, "Super freaky."

"Can't believe Rex's gone already," Crash said.

"Tell me about it," I added, "Them cats are dangerous."

"I mean it's enough to wreck a soldier," Crash continued, "But to waste 'em completely... I dunno. Makes ya' think about the rules of the street."

"There ain't no rules man," I said, "When one gang wastes a member, it's only fair that they get revenge."

"So when's that gonna' be?" Cody asked.

"How the hell should I know? I ain't warchief. Ask around."

Then the music on the radio stopped. We all listened attentively as the DJ got on the microphone.

"Guess who's back boppers. It's that time of night and I know y'all have been waiting for the scores, so here's the four-one-one. The Stonebreakers had to bean an intruder for getting to far ahead of the game last night in the Central. In Riverside, the Furies were paid a visit from the VC Rangers. Believe it or not, the boys from Van Cortland are really learning how to bop. And finally, the Hurricanes have joined forces with the Colt 45s. Looks like there might be a little more peace in Spanish Harlem. Now this next track goes out to them, and all you boppers with a fire in your heart. It's my good buddy James Brown and he's stayin' smooth. I suggest y'all do the same. _Hasta Mañana_ boppers."

As promised, the radio played James Brown's _Down and Out in New York City_.

"And so it begins," I said sarcastically when I heard about the Hurricanes.

"Fagetabadit' man," Lenney told me, "It don't mean anything.

I wanted to believe that, but if we were not let in on this truce, we could be facing a serious army in New York. After last night's fiasco, it is not likely we will be let in any time soon.

"Hey," Vermin called our attention, "I need some of you guys to come with me to Bensonhurst. The Saracens need our help again. Hopefully they'll pay us this time around. Now let's see here..."

He paused to size us up. I for one did not want to soldier tonight, but would do what I needed to.

"All of you but Turk are in," he finally said. He turned to me,"You can go on patrol with Snow tonight."

"Thanks warchief," I told him relieved.

"Yeah yeah," Vermin said modestly, "Just remember to bring back our protection money while you're out."

"Gotcha man," I said, "I'll see you dudes later."

Vermin was one of the original Warriors who formed up with Cleon years ago. He was an avid leader by heart, but not by action. He was known to be edgy and impatient at times, but still willing to get the job done. Vermin also likes to brag that he is a ladies man, but I just think he gets lucky. Sometimes, he gets too lucky. Such was the case when a female clique called the Lizzies trapped him and two other soldiers. They, like every other gang the night of the big meeting, were out to kill all of us. But despite horrible odds and a gun wielding psycho bitch, they escaped virtually unharmed. Just goes to show that if you keep your brain in your pants, you will likely get japped.

Snow and me left the hangout to the streets. It had rained earlier today and the asphalt was wet, but almost warm as fog lifted from the ground. It would not be long before June. I could not wait for summer because that is when all the tourists come to visit Coney Island. Unfortunately for them, they will stay out a little too late and more than likely get jumped. Vermin tells us young bloods that those suckers are ripe for the picking.

"You gonna' be alright bro?" asked Snow.

"Wha'? Me?" I stumbled on my words after being lost in thought, "Yeah, I think so. Just need a break or something."

"Well you got one, dig?" he said, "And so did I. They got me armying too much. It's rough without Ajax. He never backed down. You just don't wanna' get him too mad."

"Maybe I'll meet him some day."

Snow laughed a little, "You don't really meet him man, you either know him or you don't. Unless you're a chick that is."

"True 'dat!"

"And even then, he never needed to know names. Shit, if all the chicks he did came together, they could make a gang that could waste the Riffs and the cops. No shittin'!"

I just rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wished I was that good with the ladies. But times are changing. Nowadays, you either have to be ripped or gay to get that much attention from that many chicks.

"And what about you Snow?"

"Hey, I ain't tellin' you nothin'. But let's just say things have improved since Ajax got locked away though. Not that I prefer him gone and all, but he ain't stealin' anymore wool from me."

I just laughed as we entered the meat market. The old man that owned the place jumped to his feet when he saw us. His smock was covered in dry blood as he looked to Snow with a smile.

"Hey, _¿Como Estan?,_" he asked in a heavy Itailian accent, "How are the fine Warriors tonight? Come, I make you something to eat."

"Won't be necessary old man," Snow told him cutting straight to the chase, "You got our money?"

"Ah, yes the payment," said as he went to the cash register. He punched in some numbers and retrieved some ripped bills adding up to twenty-five and handed them to Snow.

"Thanks," Snow said briefly, "You got anything to report?"

"Report Warriors?" he asked, "No, no. Everything is okay as I know it."

"Well just stay sharp," Snow told him, "We'll see you another time."

"_Chao_ Warriors. If you get hungry, you no where to find me."

We left the shop and headed for the arcade, _The Little Buddha_. Snow counted up the money as I watched a cop talk to a pedestrian.

"And that's twenty-five," Snow finally said, "Vermin says he wants to charge these dudes more. But I don't see no reason to. These stores haven't been hit in a long time."

"Yeah, Vermin would want somethin' like that," I confirmed after I hopped a chain fence across from the arcade.

We walked in and stepped up to the front desk. The storeowner, Twiggy, was asleep (or more likely passed out) on the table. Snow picked up the bong on the table and knocked it on the wood near Twiggy's head. He suddenly raised his head quickly as he looked up at us. His eyes were bloodshot and his gray beard was as messy as always.

"Whoa, sorry dudes," he shook his head, "Just taking a little cat nap, you know?"

"I'm here for the cash Twiggy," Snow said.

"Whoa! Dude, don't trip. You can have it, just don't kill me man. You sure you don't just wanna' smoke or somethin'. You know as soon as the Warriors hear about you guys, you'll be sorry man."

"Twiggy, it's us. You know, the Warriors."

"Dude, I'm so glad you're here. Did you catch those punks?"

"Yeah Twiggy, we got 'em. Now do you have the twenty five dollars for protection?"

"Sure bro," he said as he opened the cash register. Snow saved him the trouble and took the money he needed out of the drawer.

"Yeah, thanks Twiggy," Snow told him, "And lay off the stuff for a while."

"You can't tell me what to do pop. I got the Warriors on my back man."

"See ya' later Twiggy."

As soon as we stepped out, I started laughing hysterically. This was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. Even the usually calm Snow was snickering.

"Yeah man, Twiggy's a little whack," he smiled.

"A little?" I questioned amused, "Shit. He reminds me of my uncle. It was easy to tell when _he_ raided the hooka."

"Alright, alright man," Snow calmed me down, "Let's split up and hit these last two stores. I'll take the plumbing store and you get over to Voodoo Motors. Just be careful. Don't need another bopper wasted."

"Gotcha," I said, "We'll meet up at the hangout later."

"Solid."

I took off for the auto mall near south Coney. It had not occurred to me until now that my mind had become at ease from last night. Maybe it was because I found the place I belonged. It was with the Warriors. They were the ones that took me in from my damaged life. They taught me about the streets and brawling. They kept money in my pocket when I needed it. But most of all, they gave me comrodry I had never felt before. I was proud to be a Warrior and would fight until death.

I suddenly spotted Rembrandt running toward the alleyway I was in. I halted him with my hands.

"Where you taking off to in such a rush little guy," I asked mocking him.

"Very funny Turk," Rembrandt told me sarcastically, "I was just on my way to see Vermin."

"Just missed him. Him and his _gang_ are headin' to Bensonhurst to check with the Saracens. As for me and Snow, we out on patrol. So where've you been."

"Uh... just lost track of time."

"Bull-shit. Come on man, you can tell me."

Rembrandt drew a sigh.

"Okay fine," he finally said, "Scopes is helping me with a special piece. I want it to be a surprise for Vermin and the guys."

"So why's it takin' so long?"

"You'll know when you see it."

"And you're sure you ain't just tellin' me this because you got a chick we don't know about."

"Come on man, just leave me alone about that."

"Okay, settle down Da Vinci. I'm visiting Skinny Pete for protection money. You in."

"Totally."

Rembrandt and I found Skinny Pete in a booth near the chain link fence surrounding Voodoo Motors. Pete always had three cars on sale in his lot, all of them four door sedans. I knocked on a window of his booth. Out came Skinny Pete wearing his tattered suit and top hat.

"'eyyyy Warriors," he said in a Jamacian accent, "How goes the streets."

"It's fine Pete," Rembrandt told him, "We just need the money and we'll take off."

"Fair enough. Just give me a second."

He opened his cash register and took out a twenty and a five. Then he handed it to Rembrandt.

"Thanks man," Rembrandt said.

"It's no problem ma' friend."

"By the way," I said, "You got anything to report on the streets."

"I do," Pete looked at me, "There be a strange looking character walkin' the streets after dark. I thought he was one of the clowns, but I hadn't seen this one in all me life. Didn't say nothin', didn't do nothin' but walk around. Thought he might be lookin' for something. Then he'd leave my sight. That's all I can say Warrior."

"Wait a minute," I stopped him, "Was he wearing overalls, a top hat and a red shirt?"

"Ah, ya' guessed right," Pete told me.

"Dammit," I turned to Rembrandt, "We gotta' get Snow and go tell Vermin about this."

"Sure thing," Rembrandt agreed, "Let's go. Thanks Pete."

Pete grinned his yellow teeth, "No sweat ma' friends. See ya' next time."

We finally left Voodoo Motors for the plumbing store. I took some time to process why this Hi-Hat scout keeps following us. It might not have been the same guy. Most of the clowns looked the same with all the makeup on. But this also made sense in accordance to last night. Maybe we were the targets to a Hi-Hat attack. But the Hi-Hats would surely fall like last time. They might even lose Crackerjack if they were not careful. It was too early to understand everything.

Rembrandt turned his head to me. "Do you think it was the same guy we saw last night?" he asked me.

"I've been thinkin' about that for a while," I answered, "It might as well be. These Hi-Hats are getting to be a really pain in the ass. I wish a cop would grab their scout one of these days. They know whose colors belong and whose don't." I paused and looked ahead, "Look there's Snow."

We waved him toward us. He was counting the money he got from the plumbing store.

"Hey Snow," Rembrandt greeted him for the first time that night.

"Wassup' little man," Snow gave him a high-five, "You meet up at the hangout yet?"

"Nah."

"Natch, eh?"

"We gotta' go talk to Vermin. Skinny Pete said he saw some bad things go down. No time to explain."

"A'ight, let's go then."

I handed him my wad of cash and he counted it off. When you have a reputation like ours, a hundred bucks is no sweat to make in one night. Vermin had been talking about getting us a new TV in the hangout since the old one has been busted. It would be nice to get one that did not need ten pounds of foil on the antennas to work it.

Inside the hangout, only Cochise, Cowboy and Jerm sat at a table talking. Snow walked up to them and tossed the money on the table smiling.

"Looking good man," Cowboy grinned as he tilted his chair back onto four legs.

"Any of you guys seen Vermin around?" I asked quickly.

"Went up to Besonhurst," Cochise answered, "Remember? Talkin' with the Saracens and shit. Why, wassup'?"

"I'll tell ya' wassup', we got Hi-Hats in the area again. Scoutin' our turf at night. They might be plannin' to army through here one of these days."

"That would explain last night," Snow added.

"That's what I thought. I figure we keep a watch on our stores in the mean time. They must have somethin' bad in mind."

"Or," Cowboy suggested, "We could hit their turf and see what's up. Just a thought."

Cowboy was another early member of the Warriors. He was relatively short, white and had chestnut hair that was always frozen in place. Not very tough on his feet, or the most ferocious bopper, but he did have a good head on his shoulders. Not to mention a good hat. His blue Stetson went everywhere he did. But somebody will occasionally steal it off of him for laughs. Cowboy's most redeeming quality though was his logical silver tongue. He can talk any cop out of an offence and pin it on another gang. If only he put it to better use with the chicks he is with.

"Vermin probably wouldn't want us doin' that," Snow said.

"Why not," Cowboy asked.

Snow smiled, "Cause it'd make more sense than waitin' here."

He received a mild chuckle from us. We had to admit that Vermin was not the best of leaders. It made me wish Swan or Cleon were still here to command us.

The hangout's front door finally opened after about two hours. Vermin and the young bloods did not look at all battered. Either they learned to regenerate, or there was no fight to be found.

"So how'd it go partner?" Cowboy asked Vermin.

"Nothin' happened," he answered irritated, "All they did was talk about their plans to expand. If I wanted to talk about that shit, I woulda' stayed here with a gang that'll actually protect my ass."

"Well maybe they'll repay you for listening," Rembrandt suggested.

"Only two things I listen to," Vermin continued, "the radio and bitches until they strip down to nothin'. Am I right?"

There were some cheers from the young bloods. Then the front door flew open again as a new face entered the room.

"I'll give an amen to that man," bellowed the tall, muscular man from behind Vermin.

Vermin turned his head quickly. "Ajax!" he screeched happily, "You're finally back!"


	4. The Crimson Text

Chapter 4: Crimson Text

3:15 AM

May 15, 1980

"I'll kill those pricks for _standing_ on our turf!" Ajax responded in a vigorous spot of aggression. I could tell the guys sure had missed that kind of tenacity.

"Turk, you're sure Pete wasn't shittin' you on this?" Vermin asked after hearing the low down on the streets.

"Positive," I told him, "We gotta' step up our scouting."

"Later man," Snow said, "Cause right now feels like a time to celebrate. Celebrate wit' my man Ajax!"

There were cheers all around as Cowboy suddenly popped in with a case of beer. We all grabbed a bottle and tipped them together before chugging. The evening had surely turned my mood around and it could not have come at a better time.

"So Ajax," Vermin asked as we had settled down, "What's it like on the inside?"

"Oh, you know," Ajax bragged, "Nothin' I can't handle. Took my keep from some wimps. They got me smokes and grub, and I went easy on their beatings."

"I hope their asses weren't too sore," Cowboy joked and laughed.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Ajax retorted angrily.

"Relax big man," Snow held him back, "We just yankin' you. It's good to see ya' back."

"Yeah, yeah," Ajax calmed down, "It _has_ been a while. By the way, where's his majesty?"

Cowboy frowned a little at the comment, "Swan's off in Vegas with his new girl, so Vermin's in charge."

Ajax and Swan were always rivals with each other. When Cleon got wasted last year, Ajax nearly wrecked Swan for the position as leader. It was clear that he would make a lousy war chief, but if he could fight half as good as Snow told me, he definitely has a place in this set.

"Heh... I figured he'd shake on you guys," Ajax smiled evilly.

"Hey man," Cowboy interjected, "He got us back home alive after the big conclave. He got us turf in parts of Coney where the cops used to swarm. But most of all, he racked up the respect on the streets we deserve. For that, he should have some time off."

"Whatever," Ajax turned his head and chugged down more of his drink. He was about what the guys had described him as being, although I expected him to be bigger. He had large muscle that looked perfect for fighting. He wore a black tank top with baggy pants. His hair was short compared to the rest of the gang members and pushed to the side. He looked like a stereotypical bully in high school that you would catch skipping class to smoke. He also had a black tattoo on his right arm of what appeared to be an "A" circled. I immediately recognized it as the new 80s sign for anarchy and lots of it.

"So anyway," I broke the silence after what seemed like minutes, "What's our next move Vermin?"

"Hey," Ajax turned to me, "Who said you could talk young blood. You're takin' orders from me now."

"Hey, what the fuck man?" Vermin asked upset, "I've been leading these guys for months now. You've got no idea what's goin' down in the streets these days."

"Vermin," Ajax rose slowly from his seat, "I think you forget who outranks you. As I recall, it was Cleon, me, Swan then you. Now you don't wanna' get wrecked do ya'?"

"Dammit Ajax," Snow yelled holding him back, "You ain't doing this again man! Vermin's yo' brotha'. We're all brothas' here. And if we start throwin' punches round here we're all gonna' get wrecked. Now I know you're a little tense man. But you gotta' calm down before we have a mess here."

Ajax looked at Snow, then Vermin for a moment. "Fine," he said, "So what is the plan mister _'warlord'_?"

Vermin regained his composure. "We're gonna' stick here and make sure our stores don't get raided. It's probably best we wait for them to come to us. I'm also gonna' need some boys pullin' scout on the streets for any sign of Hi-Hats doin' the same. Can we all dig that?"

There were scattered remarks of agreement. I had to admit, it was the smartest plan Vermin had devised so far.

"Well alright then," Vermin smiled, "Now everybody go get some rest. We've got a lot of work to do."

9:46 PM

May 21, 1980

Scouting for a week has taught me one thing. It is the most boring job available to a bopper. Each night had felt more pointless than the one before it. Vermin stuck me with Lenney the whole week. This would be fine for one or two nights, but he got extremely irritating after a while with his impatient responses to the task at hand. But who could blame him. He wanted some action, as did all of us. I just hoped we would be ready.

I prepared my mind for another fruitless night of scavenging for a clown that might not even be in the south part of the city. The walk from my apartment to the hangout was my only time alone at night, apart from leaving for sleep. I was still a little tired as I yawned and turned left ever closer to the hangout. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a white faced character directly to my left. We stared at each other for a moment or two before I walked closer ready to fight.

"It's about time you showed your fruity ass, punk!" I coarsely said to him, "I've had about enough of you and your set pissin' us off. So how about I send a message to your friend by sendin' you back in a wheelchair!"

I raised my fists and charged him with my shoulder. He could not react in time and fell to the ground hard as his head bumped the asphalt. I then pummeled his face with my elbow by dropping it on his left cheek. But he found the strength to push me off and on to my feet. As he rose, I axe kicked his now hatless head. This made him fall to the ground again in pain.

"Is that all you got sucka'?" I asked condescendingly as I proceeded to kick my downed opponent. Suddenly I was stricken with a horribly sharp pain in my left calve muscle. I looked down and only saw a leather handle of a knife sticking from my bleeding leg. "You son of a bitch!" I yelled as I fell to the ground with him. My pain suddenly was masked by the feeling of emanate death I knew was upon me, for I could not get up in time to defend myself. One quick stab to the chest could easily collapse a lung and waste me for sure.

But the Hi-Hat scout did not finish the job; he merely stood up and walked away. I could tell he was badly shaken from the beating, but I still did not understand why he would not even take the knife from my leg. The knife suddenly became my main concern. Would it be best to leave it in and keep the wound plugged, or remove it and risk massive blood loss and infection. I tried to stand, but it was very difficult. It would have taken me an hour to reach the hangout in my condition.

Suddenly, Snow found me struggling to walk and came to my aid. He removed his headband and tied it around my left leg above the wound.

"Try not ta' scream man," he warned as he quickly pulled the knife from its entry point. The pain was even greater than when I was stabbed. I gritted my teeth hard as Snow cleaned off some of the blood from my flesh with the headband and then wrapped the wound in it tightly.

"Ah... thanks man," I finally said in my post agony.

"What happened anyway?" he asked.

"I saw a Hi-Hat on my way to the hideout. I was wreckin' him good, but he surprised me with a knife. What I don't understand is why he didn't finish me off and send a message or somethin'. He just walked away like he did what he needed to do and deserves a reward."

"That _is_ a little weird man," he commented as he picked up the knife, "But at least now you got somethin' ta' scalp that sucka' with next time."

He handed the weapon to me as I quickly stashed it in my left rear belt loop. Maybe I would get him back someday. I had a good deal of revenge cooking up in me as it were.

"Can you walk?" Snow asked me as he helped me stand up.

I took some slow steps with my left leg fully extended. "I should be okay for now. Let's get goin'"

We slowly traveled to the hangout where Cochise, Cowboy, Vermin and Ajax had already arrived. They looked at me awkwardly as I struggled to a chair.

"What the hell happened to you young blood?" Vermin asked me, "Shit your pants?"

I rolled my eyes to his laughter. "Nah man, I got jumped by a Hi-Hat."

"You can't be serious," Ajax replied, "Those wimps are nothing."

"Not when they got knives and spring them on ya' when ya' least expect it," I continued.

"So how'd you get him off of you?" Cowboy asked.

"Didn't need to. He just got up and left."

"Did you at least snag a nice blade?" Vermin questioned me.

"Check it," I said as I walked slowly to him and pulled out the knife. Vermin perused to quickly.

"What the hell does it say there?" he asked confused.

"What do ya' me?" I responded with another question. I turned to knife over and saw cursive text spelled out in the color of my dried blood. I had now noticed it before when the blood was fresh.

"Looks like an engraving," Cowboy suggested as we gathered around it in curiosity. The knife read:

_You are cordially invited to the fight of_

_Your lives. We here in Soho have been_

_Studying your actions and it has come to_

_Our attention that many gangs in this city_

_Would find it best if your outfit was eliminated._

_When the clock strikes midnight to ring in June 25th,_

_Prepare to find us marching on your turf_

_Dressed to kill. Our only wish is that you make this_

_A fair and final fight. May the streets soak red Warrior blood._

_-Crackerjack and the NYC Grudge_

_P.S.- This event will not include guns, blades or explosives._

_Only blunts and fists will be aloud._

I read the text carefully three times to realize the immensity of the situation. I sat back in my seat nervous and amazed. "It all makes sense now," I said, "These guys want revenge for us ruining their gang last year. Not only that, but they're gonna' recruit every other gang we've bopped with in the past. Even freakier is that they're hiring neutral gangs to fight along side them."

"You mean the Stonebreakers and Colt 45s," Snow suggested.

"Exactly. So we gotta' get ready now!"

"How do we do that man?" Cochise asked Vermin.

"How else? We get more cash, more soliders, recruit some other gangs, stock up on heat and train hard," Vermin answered.

"You're forgetting something," Cowboy pointed out.

"What's that man?" Cochise asked.

"We gotta' get Swan back here."


	5. NYC Grudge

Chapter 5: NYC Grudge

11:58 PM

May 21, 1980

"Alright babies, time for your sixty second dosage of everything boppin' in the big city. The Harlem Boppers, Turnbull A.C.'s, and the Jones Street Boys have joined up with the Colt 45s after long deliberation. The team's gettin' bigger, and for those of you not in the know, they call themselves the NYC Grudge. They're truly a set to be reckoned with. For those of you boppers in the big C.I., I don't need to tell you that we're happy to see an old face back from the big house. Watch out Grudge, the Warriors ain't a bad lineup themselves. Heh, then again, neither are the cops. Stay alert boppers. And keep on groovin'."

The DJ signed off for the night and played "Peace Frog" by _The Doors_. Meanwhile, Vermin and Cowboy had been spending the past hour repairing our old phone atop our broken television. I had seen pieces of it peeled off and pushed aside for the longest time, but they had gotten down to the faulty wiring and reconnected it with some black tape and tin foil. Vermin reassembled the phone in a heartbeat and checked for a tone.

"Yes!" he cheered as he dialed zero for the operator. We waited in anticipation for somebody to pick up. Finally, Vermin asked the operator (more politely than I had ever heard him) for the MGM hotel where Swan was staying. From there, he asked for room 729. We too waited in anticipation.

"This is taking forever," Ajax murmured, "Let it go already."

"Swan?" Vermin asked at last over the phone, "I guess not... well where is he? No he can't just call me back. Do you know what I went through to get him? You have no idea what that means to me... okay... alright... it's about time."

A lot of us figured Mercy had been giving Vermin a hard time.

"Swan man, is that you?" Vermin said after a pause, "How's life in Sin City treatin' ya'? Look, we need ya' back... Well you remember how the Hi-Hats lost a lot of guys to us? And remember how they always swore vengeance and crap like that? Well they've finally snapped and are buildin' an army with other gangs in the city... Yeah I know... I dunno, five, six gangs now... Just hurry up war chief... Fine, then take her with you if ya' gotta'... Two days? You can't be serious... Okay, okay... Just hurry man... Later."

"Well?" Snow asked anxiously.

"He'll be back by Saturday," Vermin said with a sigh.

"So what do we do 'til then?" Cochise questioned.

"I thought I told you guys. Round up as many gangs as you can to fight with us. I figure the Saracens still have our backs. Dammit, we really don't have too much protection, huh? I suppose we could convince the Panzers and Rangers to join up."

"I'm just throwing out an idea," Cowboy started, "But what if we threaten the Orphans into joining up?"

There were several remarks of disapproval from around him.

"I know what you're thinking, but they might just be the advantage in numbers we need."

"Those stupid fucks are better at throwing punches at themselves than at another gang," Ajax chuckled.

"Cowboy might be right," Vermin finally exclaimed, "I know there's been some pretty bad blood in the past, but desperate times call for desperate gangs."

There were more murmurs of disapproval. But after reviewing the situation, we could not help but agree. It was up to us to assemble an army and it never hurts (you) to pack a few dozen human shields.

"So let's get moving Warriors!" Vermin continued, "Snow and Ajax, see what you can do about getting the Orphans on our network."

"Yes _sir_" Ajax mocked.

Vermin ignored him and went on. "Cowboy and Cochise, meet up with the Saracens. They at least owe us for the other night."

The two of them nodded and headed for the door.

"Cody and Lenney, round up some more new bloods and tell them what's goin' down. Make sure they all know."

They looked at each other and left together.

"Turk, you just hang tight 'til I get back."

"Where are you goin'?" I asked.

"Gramercy Park," he smiled, "I think the Riffs might finally pay us back for Cleon."

"The Riffs?" I exclaimed surprised, "That's like the biggest outfit in the city, man. You sure about that?"

"I figure it's worth a shot."

"Fair enough," I sighed, "I'll just do _nothing_ for now."

"We'll be back later," he assured me as he walked out the door.

I sat for hours in the same chair, getting up occasionally to see if I could weight bare. I was still in a tremendous amount of pain when I walked. The sharp sting would almost take my breath away as I would fall back into my seat. My mind felt red and burnt, almost like being stabbed again. If I could not deal with the burden of my own weight, how could I help ease the burden of full-scale warfare? It was an unexpected change in events that left us buckled but not defeated. Unfortunately, this pain will not end after being bandaged up.

It was at that moment, Rembrandt ran through the front doors. He was out of breath and panting heavily.

"I got... word... some action's... goin' down," he gasped slowly.

"Relax man," I said, "Nothins' goin' down yet. You'll find out sooner or later."

Rembrandt sat down near me and glanced down at my leg.

"What's with your leg man?" he asked.

"Oh, that?" I said condescendingly, "Well I was just _stabbed_ a little while ago. How are _you_ doing?"

"Okay, okay," Rembrandt stopped me, "I'm sorry. So how did it happen?"

I then proceeded to tell him about the events that led up to my condition. I showed him the knife and he nearly regurgitated.

"I...am not ready for a war yet man," Rembrandt said nervously.

"Hey, you've been a Warrior longer than me," I told him, "And you've probably seen more action than me. What's the big deal?"

"I know the Hi-Hats. I know how they tag and how they bop. They're gonna' kill us all... I just know it."

"You worry too much man. We've got the most solid crew around. And we've wrecked these fools countless times. It's a done deal."

"It's just... I've had nightmares for years that they would come back and murder us. They're not like other gangs. Other gangs lose soldiers, but move on. But these guys are different. If they lose they're honor, they'll lose it on you."

I laughed at his comment. "Man, you seriously worry too much. I know they're pretty pissed now, but we'll mess 'em up large; like we always do."

"I hope your right. I really do." Rembrandt sat back in seat and put his feet on the table rocking slowly on its two legs.

I began to reconsider his concern. To be fair, that one tussle earlier was the only bopping I had had with any Hi-Hat. I figured they would not have stabbed me if they did not mean serious business. But what kind of gang starts a truce with others just to take down one set? Were we really that well known? I did not want to think about it at the moment.

At long last, Vermin was the second to return. He seemed disappointed and my heart sank.

"They don't wanna' talk to me," he explained, "They wanna' talk to Swan."

"Can ya' blame 'em?" I smiled.

Vermin sighed, "I guess not."

"And did you mention Cleon?"

He shook his head, "I wanna' save that as a last resort, ya know?"

"I dig, it's no problem."

"So what now?" Rembrandt asked nervously.

"How about you get me a brew little man," Vermin ordered.

"Make it two," I added holding out two fingers. I sat up straight and turned to Vermin. "So is Swan anywhere as good as they say he is?"

"Bro, you don't know the half of it," he grinned.

Swan was renowned as "The Best" Warrior around. Although he tends to keep to himself when not with his gang, he would just as well take a bullet for the team. He was the one that led the eight remaining Warriors back to Coney Island after the big meeting (minus Fox and Ajax). He evaded the A.C.'s, scared off the Orphans (no surprises there), threw down with the Furies, wrecked the Punks and finished off the Rouges back home. He proved to everybody that these were his streets. It was no wonder Cleon picked him for second in command. Snow even tells me Swan was an amazing fighter who could probably waste Ajax if he wanted to. Anyway, if the Riffs know him by name, he must be good.

Forty more minutes passed and Snow returned with Ajax from Tremont. He gave us a nod.

"Sully's in," Ajax said, "Are ya' happy now?"

"How'd ya' do it man?" Vermin asked.

"Pft... followed the little bitch back to his place," Snow explained, "Grabbed him in the dark and beat some sense into him. Now he's down with the Warriors. I just hope they don't disappoint."

"You _know_ they will," Ajax commented.

The Orphans were the pussy gang of New York. Making home in Tremont, the Orphans are sissies looking for action that is not too rough. We do not mind if they want to tell made up stories to each other about how many soldiers they wrecked, but when they spread rumors about _us_, we have to come down hard on them. Their leader is a bug-eyed wuss named Sully. He must have been extremely angry with us after last year, especially since Swan stole his girlfriend Mercy. Not to mention the time we demolished his car. He must have shit himself. Everybody makes jokes about the Orphans, but the one thing they do have to their names is strength in numbers. In Tremont, they never shy from recruiting. Who knows if they are the edge we needed.

Our two young bloods were the next to return. They made sure all of our affiliates heard about the plan. They were followed by about fifty more soldiers fussing and asking around about what was going on. Some sat down at tables, while others leaned on the railing waiting for anything to happen. Vermin gave a sharp whistle of attention.

"Warriors!" Vermin yelled from atop a table, "Sit down and shut up for a second! Now we are faced with something no gang wants to face, but every gang says they dream of. Fellas' we're in a war with the Hi-Hats. But it's not just them; there are more guys being recruited as we speak. Soon I'm gonna' to resign leadership for a more qualified member."

Ajax sat up and was about to stand.

"I'm talkin' about the Swan," Vermin announced with a smile. There was a bunch of cheers from some of the veterans. Ajax sat down again with his head low and his middle finger up.

"We've only got a little while to get strapped and recruit more guys," Snow stood up near Vermin.

"That's right man," Vermin continued, "And Swan'll be hear Saturday. Until then, I don't want any of you bloods causin' trouble on the streets. Don't go armyin' downtown, and don't mess with the feds. It ain't safe out there anymore and we need as many men as we can take. When Swan gets here, he'll tell us what to do. I know I haven't been the best war chief..."

"No shit!" Ajax yelled from behind. There was some scattered laughter.

"...but I can't let you guys down. Cleon and me started this gang, and I'm gonna' see it through to the end. Does everybody dig that?"

The Warriors cheered in a burst of sudden morale. Vermin stepped down from his platform and grabbed a beer. It was at that moment Cowboy and Cochise opened the doors and walked in. Cowboy smiled and tossed his hat in the air as he ran up to Vermin.

"They're in man," he grinned, "The Saracens are with the Warriors as of right now."

"And check this out war chief," Cochise said, "Them boys are up in numbers since we busted those JSBs. Guess a good listener is all ya' need to lend an army."

"Solid man," Snow commented as he tapped knuckles with Cochise.

"You guys really pulled through," Vermin smiled too, "So have a drink already, man."

We all drank that night. We drank to celebrate Swan returning and our alliance with the Saracens and Orphans. We drank to forget about our troubles, because they always end up biting us in the ass. Eventually I stood up from my seat and finally was able to limp around at my leisure. I grabbed my drink and looked out at the bums rummaging through the trash. It was almost humorous to watch them, especially when you're a little tipsy.

But then I looked past the fence and saw a bandaged Hi-Hat patrol watching me. When he saw that I saw him, he scurried off again. He had tipped over a trashcan on his way out. If I could have killed him right there, I would have.


	6. Swan and Mercy

Chapter 6: Swan and Mercy

10:47 PM

May 24, 1980

A lot of people were sad to see the 70s go when it did. The music was groovy and the nights were everlasting. I admit I took into some simple pleasures like that before I joined. It never hurts to take a little break every so often to relax away the stress of life. Needless to say, we were all quite stressed about the upcoming brawl. But at the same time I was excited to meet Swan for the first time. He might just make this whole situation worth living through.

The past two nights had been as slow and cautious as they had the nights before. I was spending too much time sitting on my ass, but I really did not have much of a choice. I did some stretches and exercises in my free time to help the healing process, but it was still too slow for me. I hated this pain keeping me from training, and hate was no stranger to me as of late. But biding was the only thing I could do.

It was about quarter of eleven as I sat back talking to Snow and Cochise.

"Any minute now," I said looking at the clock on the television.

"Man, it's gonna' be cool havin' Swan back," Cochise exclaimed with a smile.

"He's the one and only, right?" I asked.

"One and only, my man," Snow said. He scratched his head as I thought of something to make conversation about.

"So what was it like last year when you guys needed to get home from the meeting?" I finally asked.

They looked at each other for a second, then at me.

"We don't really like talkin' about it man," Snow said, "It's personal, ya' know?"

"Yeah," Cochise added, "I seen things that night I never wanted ta' see again man. Cleon gets wrecked, then Fox, and every gang in the city is ridin' your ass 'til you're dead. It's scary man. _Really_ scary."

"Alright man," I calmed him down a little, "Look, Swan'll be here in just a little bit. So let's keep our heads on for now."

I peered over to Crash and Ajax playing with the pinball machine. Ajax looked like the game was a matter of life and death, as he cursed the flippers. We all knew it was only a matter of time before he lost focus and dropped a huge f-bomb.

"Hey ladies," Vermin sat down with us, "You guys as excited as I am?"

"You know it man," I gave him a high-five and tapped my knuckles against his.

"So dudes, do any of you guys know why Rembrandt's been out so late?"

I had figured it was only a matter of time before questions started flying about our artist. I knew I should be loyal to our warchief, but did not want to ruin the surprise (whatever it was).

"Eh... let the little guy have some fun, man," Snow commented in a laidback fashion of his, "He's probably never had a girlfriend before."

"What makes you think this is about a piece of ass?" Vermin asked, "I know we all assume it, but with the streets the way they are, you just don't know what'll happen next."

"Vermin man, you worry too much," Cochise said.

Vermin chuckled a little, "Yeah... some things never change."

"You got that right," said a voice walking up the stairs to our table. He was tall with hair that was kind of long and kind of blond, but very messy. He wore a Warriors vest with no undershirt (like some of the other members such as Vermin, Snow and Rembrandt). He had a ripped physique and a slightly happy look on his face as he approached.

"Dude! It's Swan man!" Vermin yelled happily.

"Aw man! Swan is back!" Cochise exclaimed.

"Huh? Swan's back?" Ajax turned around as the pinball slid into the gutter beneath the flippers, "Fuck!"

"Yeah it's me," Swan said calmly, "You guys look surprised."

"Hey Swan, I'm Turk," I introduced myself holding out a fist in hopes he would knuckle it.

"Yeah, how ya' doin' there," he glanced down at me uninterested.

"Guess who partner!" Cowboy dropped his hat over Swan's eyes from behind.

"Cowboy, I ain't in the mood right now, man," Swan said as he took off the hat and tossed it to him.

"Hey!" shrieked an annoying voice from behind Swan and Cowboy, "Is it too much to ask that ya' help me with these bags."

Up stepped a rather attractive woman. She looked like she was in her twenties with medium length black hair that just about touched her shoulders. She was wearing a black fleece jacket over a red sparkling cocktail dress and dark pantyhose. Her red high heels complemented her very well formed posterior. In both hands she carried some heavy looking luggage. Clearly she was the best-dressed woman that ever walked into our hangout. I figured immediately that she was the one the guys told me about. Swan's girl, Mercy.

"They _are_ all your bags ya' know." Swan retorted coolly.

"Well excuse me if my only change of clothes isn't a vest and pants."

"Sure would make life a lot easier."

"Look, I have been flyin' for six hours straight now so you can visit your little friends. My feet hurt and my ass is falling asleep."

I mistakenly tipped my head up in interest at her.

"What are you lookin' at chump?" she asked me in disgust, "I'm married for Christ's sake, so back off."

"It was a Vegas marriage," Swan said, "It doesn't really mean anything."

"You really don't care about me. Do ya'? A room full of horny guys and you won't protect me? What if I get raped jerk?"

I could tell why Swan was not in the mood for our goofing off. A chick that annoying has got to get your head throbbing after a while. It really is a shame since she was so attractive. But I could not have her even if I wanted to.

"Just drop it for now Mercy," Swan commanded with a slight bit of compassion, "I've got some stuff to say to the guys. I'll help with the bags later."

She said nothing and turned her head as she sat down surprisingly close to me. She smelled rather nice (at least compared to all the other occupants of the hangout).

"Alright Warriors, settle down," Swan projected his voice to the crowd, "Now Vermin here has given me the low down on what's goin' on with the Hi-Hats. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared, but we got the manpower to take down those fucks. Now who's on our network so far Vermin?"

Vermin stood up, "So far we have the trusty Saracens and the... uh... the Orphans."

There was some laughter from some of the uninformed young bloods. I looked over and saw Mercy shaking her head slightly.

"That was a good idea Vermin," Swan smiled, "We can use all the guys we can get. Might as well take the pushovers."

"It was my idea warchief!" Cowboy yelled. We heckled him with some claps.

"Right, thanks," Swan continued, "So after tonight, we only have a month to get ready. We still have plenty of troops to recruit. Tomorrow, I'm going to take the next group of wannabe Warriors up to Gunhill for initiation. Vermin, you're coming with me. We gotta' make sure these guys are loyal. The streets have just gotten a little more dangerous. I figure we should take them to the train yard..."

I was distracted when Mercy turned toward me. I made eye contact with her as I took my hand off my cheek.

"So where you from kid?" she asked me softly.

I was shocked to see she was talking to me, especially with the awkward moment we had earlier.

"Um... well I'm from right here," I told her, "Coney Island. Well I was originally born in Syria, but lived here almost all of my life. W... why? Where are you from."

She put her hand on her chin and gave a little smile, "Hmm, well I was born in some shit hole in Tremont. My pop always wanted to do what was best for me, but I never understood what _that_ meant. The crime in my part of New York set me searching for a man who can protect me, ya know?"

I nodded with my mouth accidentally open.

"And so I met this dude Angelo who was with the Hurricanes," she continued, "But he got wasted within a month. Then I met Sully, the head of the Orphans. Cute kid, but he ain't got no spine man. And so here I am with this goon."

She pointed with her thumb to Swan who seemed to be saying something important. But my eyes quickly snapped back to hers.

"And already I've had a longer conversation with you than him," she said crossing her legs and turning toward me, "So... you wanna' help me with my bags?"

I chuckled nervously, knowing that she may very well be playing with me. But I realized she was being serious and I nodded my head, my mouth still slightly ajar.

She led the way to the door downstairs and interrupted Swan quickly.

"I'm taking one of your young bloods to get the bags, okay?" she said.

"Fine, less work for me," Swan commented, barely averting his gaze.

When we got outside, I looked around for a car or a taxi where the bags might have been. I was curious when I saw Mercy was climbing the fire escape to the rooftop. But she waved me up in anticipation. I was also surprised that she had not seen me limping lately, because going up stairs was quite a task in my condition.

"Come on buddy," Mercy saw my struggle and put my arm around her shoulder. Now I felt the nervousness, not only from fear of my leg collapsing, but from being able to put my arm around this attractive stranger. I felt her fleece jacket against my bare arms in a gentle caress. My hand draped near the top of her left arm and I did not want it to lay limp. At the same time, resting it on her arm seemed too forward, so I just made a fist and let it be. She then put her right arm around my back and on my side. Her fingers hugged my right pectoral. She helped hoist me up with a surprising amount of strength considering her small frame and high heels.

"You comfortable?" she asked in a sort of condescending manner.

"I'm just not used to a chick being able to lift me up," I told her.

"Hey, if you wanted a dude's arm around you, I'm fine with that."

I gave her a little laugh.

"So why are we going to the roof?"

My question was answered as soon as we got there. On the rarely seen rooftop of our hangout was a gigantic marvel in aeronomics. It was something I had never seen up close and never expected to see unoccupied. It was a double rotor helicopter. And it was red.


	7. Blood in the Streets

Chapter 7: "Blood in the Streets"

11:23 PM

May 24, 1980

At last, the final suitcase was unpacked and it just had to be the heaviest one of them all. We had been unpacking the helicopter for the past twenty minutes. All the while, the two of us talked and shared stories. I would relish the feeling I got when she helped me up the stairs. I was almost sad when there was only one suitcase left. We both strained as we slid the luggage slowly down the steps. My leg felt like it was on fire after every step. I did my best to rest most of my weight on the suitcase. Finally, we got it down and dragged it to the door.

"Whew, that took some work," Mercy said as she ran her fingers through her hair (almost in slow motion from my perspective).

"I'll say," I commented, quickly looking away from her to not seem as though I was staring.

"So what do you guys do for fun around here?" she asked me as she sat down on the small stoop in front of the main entrance and crossed her legs.

"Well I haven't done much lately," I told her, sitting down on the stoop as well, "What with my leg in such bad shape. Just been sitting around at the hangout."

"Oh yeah? Well maybe we should hook up some night when the guys are all out. Ya' know, have some fun. Unless you wanna' just sit around."

I wondered if she even needed a response to this. Again, I felt pretty bad for spending so much time with Swan's girl, but at the same time, she came on to me. Even though my roots as a Warrior told me to say no, I just could not refuse this chick.

"Sure, why not?" I said looking her in the eyes.

"I'm glad to here it man," she smiled and stood up, "You're a good kid."

She then put her hand on my shoulder to lift herself up and walked to the door. I felt her leg brush against my face as she passed by. It was very smooth.

11:53 PM

June 1, 1980

24 days until the fight...

"Alright boppers, it's time for the nightly word on the fields of New York. Seems like no team is alone anymore. The Grudge has drafted the Savage Huns, the Punks and the Baseball Furies last night. But not so fast boys, the Warriors have a solid lineup too. The Van Cortland Rangers and the Panzers are on the team now, but is it a winner? Stay tooned, 'cause this slugfest has just begun. Aloha for now babies."

The D.J. signed off the air and played "Another One Bites the Dust" by _Queen_.

Over a week had gone by since Swan and Mercy arrived. My leg had been improving every day, even to the point where I could run. Swan and the guys were off recruiting members to help defend Coney. We had to bribe some and threaten others, but our army was getting bigger. It was a shame that I could not join any of the guys when they went to recruit, but at the same time, being back home has its advantages. Mercy and me had been going out behind Swan's back almost every night since she arrived. At the end of each date, we would hide up in the helicopter and make out until the Warriors returned. It had been a while since I kissed a girl, but it was a feeling I enjoyed having again. We had even gotten to third base on one special occasion (after a few drinks). I remember her saying, "What are we? In high school?"

Every night, she would dress up in high heels, makeup and diamond earrings. I never really changed my basic outfit, keeping strictly to a t-shirt, Warriors vest (because I have to represent) and blue jeans with steel-toed boots. She did not seem to mind, and neither did I, as long as _she_ was the one looking attractive. It was difficult to undertand what this pulling force was between us. I only knew her for a few days, but I already felt deeply in love. Each kiss, each word, held a gift of romance I had never truly experienced so strongly. It made me feel excited about what was next.

But there was still the constant guilt toward my warchief. I did not know Swan well, but he did not deserve me having these romantic episodes with his girlfriend (or "Vegas Wife" anyway). But as they say, "What he don't know won't hurt him." I just hoped I could believe that.

"Man, I always liked that song," Cochise said as he turned up the volume on the radio and snapped his fingers to the bass. I saw Swan approaching us from behind him.

"Alright Warriors," he declared, "We're headin' for Tremont again. The Orphans are our most fragile allies, and I don't want those assholes booking on us. I wanna' talk to Sully myself on this. So Cochise and Vermin, you're in. Round up some young bloods and meet me outside."

He stopped and looked at me, "How's the leg kid?" he asked.

"Fine warlord," I said calmly.

"Good, then you're boppin' with us tonight," he told me, "If you wanna' hang with the veterans, you better prove you are one."

"You got it Swan," I exclaimed with a boost of morale. It was a shame he would likely hate me when he found the truth.

I looked over to Mercy, who was looking at us (or maybe just me) from across the room. She walked over to us and put her hand on Swan's shoulder. I felt a little uneasy.

"I wanna' come with you guys tonight," she said as she pulled his head down closer to her mouth, "Ya' know, to see the old town."

"Fine, whatever," Swan said, unfazed, "Okay dudes, I guess we gotta' baby-sit too. Who wants Mercy?"

"I'm not a puppet, creep!" she exclaimed, pushing him away, "I can handle these streets myself, so don't bother."

"Fine, but when you get fucked up by the streets, it won't be my fault," Swan said turning away from her.

I was starting to realize why Mercy wanted to relocate her love life. They did not seem to have any interest in each other whatsoever. In fact, they have only exchanged nasty comments since they arrived. In any case, it did make me feel a little less guilty about my secret affair. Perhaps Swan would end up paying me to take her off his hands.

I had missed the hiss of the subway around the midnight hour as the same platform lights flickered on our departure. The squeak the doors made when they cracked open as we gathered in. I had missed the hard seats that were petrified from years of dust and cold weather. I missed the view of street lamps running across a grimy window and the hand restraints banging on the ceiling. I missed the nervousness that builds in every bopper before they go somewhere unfamiliar. The fear that this would be the last time one of your friends would be seen alive. Most people would try to avoid such a bleak scene, but it was the only one I knew and the only one I preferred.

Mercy sat down next to Swan and rested her hand in his lap. I just turned away and chatted with Vermin for a while, keeping my gaze off the couple.

"When this is all over, what are we going to do man?" I asked him with a heavy tone.

"I dunno man," Vermin smiled and shook his head, "maybe get some pizza or something. Tremont's got this awesome place called _Delmonico's_...

"No dude," I interrupted, "I mean after this big war with these guys. The streets are gonna' change. I know it."

"Yeah, this isn't just something the cops'll let work itself out. But hey, if last year taught us anything, it's that we own these streets! If the pigs catch wind, they'll have to deal with all of us."

"Alright... so we wreck the clowns, wreck the cops and wreck anybody else in the way. Then what?"

"Two words my friend," Vermin grinned, "Mob rules! This city could belong to us in one night! Then the cops can't stop us, and neither can any other clique. Goddamn, it's just like Cyrus said it could be."

Now Vermin was starting to sound ignorant. I would think somebody with his street smarts would comprehend how implausible his belief was. But whatever kept him happy and fighting was good enough for me.

At last, we had arrived in Tremont and the doors hissed open. Along with Cochise and Vermin, Crash, Jerm and Lenney were joining us. Swan gathered us all together in a circle and was about to give us a quick brief (as was customary of the warchief). But Mercy cut him off.

"I got some places to check out," she snatched Swan's shoulder again, "I'll meet up with you guys later."

"No, you're not leaving my sight," he turned toward her and exclaimed sternly.

She scoffed, "I have a life outside of your's, asshole!" she said gritting her teeth and digging her fingers into Swan's shoulder. She stormed off into the darkness.

"Goddammit!" Swan yelled. He tried running after her, but stopped and sighed. He then turned to me. "Listen kid, I need you to watch over her. Just keep an eye on my girl and make sure nothing happens."

"You got it warchief!" I nodded, almost smiling.

I quickly followed the same path Mercy took as I heard Swan brief the other Warriors. I looked left and right, but there was no sign of her. Then I heard her footsteps on the pavement as she appeared under a streetlamp.

Mercy looked beautiful as usual beneath the light. It rained down on her long (slightly) curly hair like sunshine. Her outfit of choice that night was a blue jacket that draped over her red skirt that was a little above the knees. As she sighed and put her hands on her waist, she opened up her purse and took out an old pocket watch. She looked at the device in anticipation as I moved closer, keeping masked in the shadows. I could not help but think she was waiting for something, or somebody.

About five minutes passed as I kept myself out of her sight. I figured it was only a matter of time until her night vision kicked in and she would see me, so I decided to leave her be and try to find Swan. But when I turned to move to my entrance alley, a man walked out of it, missing me by about a foot's distance. I immediately halted my breathing and closed my eyes as the dark figure approached Mercy without noticing me. When he entered the light, I got a good look at him.

His face looked drunk, even if the rest of his body did not. He was about Mercy's height and wore a tucked in green t-shirt and dirty blue jeans. His lazy eyes were obscured by his messy hair falling over his brow. Upon a second look, I found that his shirt had black letters on it reading "ORPHANS" in bold text.

"I didn't think you would show Mercy," the man said in a squeaky voice as he leaned over to kiss her. She backed away and pushed him aside in disgust.

"I don't think so Sully," she protested, "We're through. You're just lucky I still owe you one."

He chuckled with a stupid look on his face, "Alright, straight to business then. Well you don't like him, and I sure as hell don't want him on my turf anymore. I'm... I'm really nervous. But when the Orphans see a problem, they take it out!"

Mercy shook her head, "No Sully, when the Orphans know the problem's got its guard down they land a sucker punch."

"Can it!" he yelled at her, looking more upset than I would expect, "Just stick to the plan!"

Mercy laughed a little at his anger.

"You got a messenger for them?" Sully asked after running his fingers through his disheveled scalp.

"Yeah, yeah," she said coolly, "Picked him up last week. Cute kid, but he needs to be more open-minded. I'll lead him out of the way and you take the rest. Make it look like he abandoned them at the wrong time, or somethin'."

I raised my eyebrow in curiosity. So it was true that she could not be my girl after all. But it was not for the reasons I had thought. And yet she seemed so nice and thoughtful. I was not sure if I was angry from the impending danger, or broken hearted, but I knew I had to do something. If Sully liked surprises, then he was about to find his last one.

"Well you had better find him," Sully exclaimed; his patience waning, "My boys are moving in any second now."

"Fine, I was about to do that," Mercy was starting to sound pissed off as well as she walked toward to alley I came in. She then turned back, adding, "And Sully! If you _ever_ tell me what to do again, I'll rip your goddamn balls off. Got it?"

Sully just gave her a glare and walked to my left. I had to stop him before he wrecked the guys. How could I have been so ignorant to them? They were my gang, and I was blowing them off for a chick. Regardless of how much gangs do not admit it, there is an unwritten law that states your gang comes before wool. At that point, I only had them.

I bolted after Sully when the two parted ways. Mercy saw me under the street light as I approached. When she recognized me, she panicked and grabbed my arm with both her hands. My bad leg could not overpower her (surprisingly) as she pulled me toward her and forced me into a deep smooch. I was raging with emotions as I tried to push her aside. But then I felt like embracing her and copping one last feel. My head flashed images of my initiation, Rex and the Hi-Hat scout as I yanked Mercy off me and threw her to the ground with more force than I had anticipated.

"Turk!" she yelled, "Wait!"

But I was too focused to give her any attention and ran against my pain toward Sully. He heard my approach and turned around when I arrived. I caught him off guard with a fierce punch to the neck (a sometimes lethal blow if done properly). As he grasped his throat and coughed madly, I landed a solid kick to his stomach and brought him down with a classic punch to the face. When he fell on the street, I could not help but stomp his inanimate body as it laid face down bleeding the asphalt red. My rage felt fulfilled for the moment.

Suddenly, Mercy jumped on my back and dug her nails into my shoulders. I shook her off again and she hit the ground roughly.

"Why would you do that?" she asked in pain and sadness, "I thought you loved me!"

"I thought I did too," I looked at her sternly. Her hair was sticking up in a few places and her clothes had dark stains on them from the dirty pavement. Her skirt was torn along the bottom and she had apparently broken a heel. I almost felt beastly for what I did.

"I hope they find you, prick!" she yelled in a horribly edgy way, as her face grew red with anger.

"Just get the fuck outta' here you stupid bitch," I exclaimed in a way that was unlike myself.

She ran away in a hobbling manner, using her one good shoe for leverage. I could have sworn I saw a tear in her eye as she turned. It made me feel depressed.

I then looked down at Sully, who was still bleeding and motionless. It was sort of a sad site to see him bruised and beaten without throwing a single punch. He had his arms sprawled out as if to cushion the load of his body lying on his bloody face. The "high and mighty" leader of the Orphans was done for, and it would surely be mentioned on the radio by tomorrow. It was then I remembered that I still needed to get to the guys before the rest of the Orphans showed up.

But as the adrenaline of the fight wore off, the pain in my leg worsened once again. I could run no further and sort of hopped uncomfortably to the general area I saw Swan and the guys head to. I slowly climbed a small chain-linked fence using my right leg and upper body to hoist myself over. I hit the ground on my right foot and felt more pain in my calve muscle as it supported some of the fall. I continued my journey, breathing heavily at times as more work was required to get around. At this rate, they would leave without me (although I was sorely doubting that). Then, I saw just what I needed to find those guys.

"I won't sleep 'til I get paid son," said the bum sitting beneath a streetlight outside the liquor store. He was a mangy looking elder with an old army helmet, a tattered uniform and scuffed combat boots. He was a black with squinted eyes, a rough white beard and a somewhat hoarse kindness in his voice.

"Listen buddy, I lost my boys scouting the town," I told the bum as I reached into my pocket, "Now I got two bucks in it for you if can tell me where they went."

"Two bucks?" the bum protested in amusement, "I make more searchin' the phone booths. But fair's fair my friend. What do they look like?"

"They're my gang. Buncha' dudes wearin' the same colors as me," I pointed to the back of my vest with my thumb.

"Hmmm, I think I saw them head down to the scrap yard," said the bum pointing me in a general direction in front of him.

"Appreciate it man," I dropped the two bills in his lap, "Don't spend it all in one place."

"Hey Warrior!" he stopped me before I took off, "The name's Henry. Thanks for the cash," he then held out a dirty hand with wrinkled stubby fingers he expected me to shake.

"I'm Turk, good to see ya'" I told him as I shook his rough, dry hand, "You have a good night."

I then took off toward the scrap yard as instructed, trying as best as I could to ignore the pain.

"See ya' 'round buddy," Henry the bum yelled out. This was followed by a few wheezing coughs and a sigh.

I had always felt a low level of respect toward any and all New York City bums; mostly do to their constant inebriation. But it was nice to know that in this world of crime, violence and drugs, at least there is a handful of kind souls still around. In any case, kindness does not win you a strong reputation on these streets, and that bum would sure as hell stay right where he was in the gutter, no matter how kind he seemed. It was a tragic revelation, but it was true.

The scrap yard brought back some entertaining stories of yesteryear among the veterans who visited Tremont before the conclave. The story of Sully's car was priceless, and I remember Vermin saying it was one of Cleon's favorites to tell.

I felt little bits of metal dust (presumably) sting my eyes and irritate my throat. If the particles were floating in the air, somebody must have passed through recently. I scanned the area and left my ears at attention for any sign of the Warriors, or perhaps an enemy invasion. All I saw were piles of aluminum sidings in several different colors, some bricks, broken glass, gravel, and some paint cans. It was exactly what I expected to see, but my gang was not present.

Then I saw a man running at me. My eyes were still a little watery and could not identify him from a distance. All I could tell was that he was coming right at me and was in a hurry to get there. First I saw his white bony face was chestnut hair that was similar to Swan's. The dark green t-shirt was then the dead giveaway that he was an Orphan. I stood my ground and was ready for his pounce. My leg was hurting, but the adrenaline still found its way back into me. Unfortunately, the Orphan just ran to my right and pushed me aside. I felt more stinging as I fell to my left; teeth clenched viciously. I staggered, but kept my ground.

It was then I saw Swan, Snow and the rest running toward me, perhaps in a chase with the Orphan from before. Swan held out his arm to stop his gang right in front of me.

"So where is she?" he asked calmly with a little exhaustion in his voice.

"Swan, dude, we have to get outta' here now!" I exclaimed with panic in my voice.

"Calm down young blood," Swan raised his hand using the same tranquil tone, "Now I'll ask you again. Where's Mercy?"

"I... I dunno. I lost her on my way over, but it's not important, man."

"Maybe not to you, but she's my girl and my responsibility."

"Look, forget about her! She's the whole reason we're in deep shit right now. That dude you guys are followin's a decoy, and I guaran-damn-tee you he's got a whole lotta' boys waitin' at the other end."

"What the fuck are you talking about young blood," Swan changed the mood back to a calm one.

"Mercy's in with the Orphans! Don't you get it?"

"Bullshit."

"I saw her with Sully!"

"No, Mercy wouldn't do that."

"Look, man," Snow entered the conversation, "Why don't you hear him out warchief? There ain't no reason for him to make this up."

I was at least glad somebody had enough sense to understand what I was saying. If Swan was around longer, he would have realized that just because I was a young blood, dose not mean I could not associate with the lieutenants.

"Well I'm not stickin' around to get killed," I said with a new found confidence, "Are you?"

Swan gave me a straight look as he assaulted me with his eyes. He walked closer to me and surprisingly grabbed the front of my shirt.

"Where do you get off lying about my girl, dickhead?" his voice began to fill with anger.

"Swan, man, put him down," Cochise butted in, pushing Swan's angry arm down.

Swan looked at Cochise, then at my helpless state. He then delivered a low blow to my abdomen and let me fall to the ground.

"What the fuck are you doing man?" Snow interjected angrily the same thought that was in my own head.

I could not see the two react to my pain, as I was knelt face down to the ground. Blood was beginning to float out of my throat, as I embarrassingly spit it into the dirt. My left leg felt like it was on fire as my weight lay on it.

"You're outta' the gang kid," Swan scorned me in an insult to injury, "C'mon guys, we got shit to do."

"What the hell's gotten into you warchief?" Snow yelled at him, "You can't do this to him!"

"Snow, you know better than to trust a mouthy young blood," Swan said in a cool tone once again, "Now are you with me or him?"

I gathered some strength and looked up at Snow. He stared back down at meand shook his head on the heavy decision.

"This is bullshit man," he murmured to himself as he turned away and walked along with Swan and the rest. I was devastated, as I dropped my head again.

I was betrayed by my own gang for telling the truth and trying to help. I did not know how I wanted to feel in my anger and frustration. Unless the guys were lucky, they were about to get wrecked, and there was nothing I could do. None of this would have happened if that bitch never set foot into our lives.

Blood and saliva continued to fill my mouth for a few minutes as I would pause to spit it into the ground. Eventually the bleeding stopped, and I rolled over on my side to ease the pressure off my aching leg. The ground was filthy and I felt the dirt particles fill my nose, but I was too tired and defeated to care. The footsteps of the Warriors grew fainter as I closed my eyes and let my stressed mind relax for the first time in a long time. Just as I was about to sleep, the last thought in my head was that I was taken down in one hit.


	8. Reparations

Chapter 8: Reparations

4:24 AM

June 2, 1980

23 days until the fight...

My consciousness slowly began to return to me after a few hours. My first thoughts were of rolling out of bed, but my mind suddenly registered where I was, while still attempting to figure out why. My senses then started sharpening as I felt a hand shaking my shoulder. It surprised me and made my body stir slightly. I rolled over and tried to open my eyes. My leg pained me once again as my clouded eyes tried to focus on the unknown hand. I quickly rubbed my eyelids and opened them up. There, kneeled near me was Henry the Bum.

"Took quite a spill there, Warrior," he said in his slightly familiar raspy voice.

"Shit..." I mumbled to myself, "I let them get away! Dude, did you see my gang anywhere?"

"You already asked me this before," Henry pointed out, "What do you want me to say?"

"Well then why the hell are you here?"

"Because I know you're in danger buddy."

"And how do you know that?"

"'Cause I saw your crew get wrecked."

"Oh..." I paused in shock, "My god. How did it happen?"

"Dunno Warrior, but I just seen a buncha'm headin' for the subway lickin' their wounds. But I also seen a few on the ground not movin'."

I shook my head as if this situation was all my fault. To some degree it was, but if Swan was not so head strong, this might not have happened. But it was not the time to point fingers.

"So what should I do now?" I asked the bum in desperation.

"Well what you oughta' do is get off these streets," he advised, "Cause' they're pretty proud of 'em selves. Probably take down any a' you guys along the way."

"Gotcha', I better get movin' now."

"Now hold on Warrior. I can tell ya' don't know these streets; they aren't yours. You should stick with me 'til we get to the train."

It was starting to irritate me that this bum was hanging out with me (or perhaps it was his smell), but I really had no choice if I wanted to stay alive. In any case, the bum was generous enough to wake me before something bad happened. God knows I could never live it down if the Orphans wrecked _me_.

"Fine," I told him, "But let's just be careful. I dunno' how many dudes I'm up against."

He nodded and we exited the scrap yard the same way I came in. I was walking alongside the only person I could trust all night. It was a fortunately dark night, so cover was easy to come by.

"So why'd you join up?" Henry asked me after a minute or two of walking.

"What?"

"Why'd you join a gang, son?"

"What do you care?"

"I care plenty. Kids today're makin' their own rules, drivin' us honest folk into the gutta', ya' know?"

"Well my family's never been close to me, and school was a real let down. I dunno', just wanted somewhere to belong. I can fight, and think on my feet. That's what I'm good at. But the rest came from the boys showin' me how to run these streets."

"And you would never go back on that?"

"Never."

He sighed and slowed his pace slightly.

"I been in World War II and Vietnam, and I don't get no respect around here. What makes you think you'll be gettin' any?"

"'Cause you said it yourself. 'Kids today're makin' the rules'."

He looked at me, and then looked down taking another heavy sigh.

"How old are you boy?" he asked rather sternly.

"How old? I'm nineteen, why?"

"You're too young to be throwin' your life away on some stupid gang."

"Hey, back off man! I can make my own decisions on this! These streets don't belong to 'honest' adults, or you bums, or even the fuckin' politicians! They belong to the gangs of this city, so you better join up, or get the fuck out!"

He stopped walking and stared me down for a few moments. I eventually regained my composure and felt my body temperature go down.

"Look, I'm sorry man," I told him, "I've just been through a lot, ya' know?"

"I know ya' have, that's why I'm tryin' ta' help."

"Let's just hope we're almost there."

"Get down!" Henry cried as a group of Orphans started to walk down the sidewalk. They must have been about thirty men strong, and walked with a confident swagger as they all talked at once about a fight (likely the one I just missed). Henry pulled me by my arm to the dark corner of a stoop, near some trashcans. I listened in to what they were saying.

"Man, I fuckin' destroyed that dude's ass!" one exclaimed.

"Yeah man, he'll be pissin' blood for months!" another commented.

"And that one dude got it right in the head, remember?" they all continued on in random formation.

"We massacred those Warriors man!"

"Hell yeah, and we'd do it again if we got the chance!"

"Can't believe Sully thoughta' doin' that! Genius!"

"Hey, where is Sully?"

"Who cares man? We'll find him later."

"But dude, what if they come back with more guys?"

"Hmm? Fuck it, they know better than to mess with an Orphan!"

The Orphans continued to boast on about the fight and how they beat the Warriors. I was infuriated, but knew enough to stand my ground for the time. As they passed, Henry and I left cover and continued the journey to the station.

"That was a close one buddy," Henry commented, relieved.

"_That_ was nothing, man," I boasted.

Henry and I walked for a few more blocks until he stopped me and turned in my direction.

"Okay, the station's right up ahead if this looks at all famil-yar'," he told me with his rough dirty finger pointing outward.

"Solid man," I said, "Thanks for the help. Seriously."

"No prob' Warrior. Just lookin' out."

I shook his hand again and he nodded as he sluggishly walked back from where he came. I decided to watch him leave in case any trouble came. It was the least I could do for his generosity. In any case, the subway was absent of any trains so I had a few minutes to kill.

But suddenly, I heard panting and moaning from behind me. It startled me and I quickly spun (my aching leg!) to see what the matter was. Whoever it was, he was walking limply and made a horrible sound as he moved. It reminded me of a zombie's movement and made me feel uneasy.

"Man, you gotta' help me now!" screamed Cochise as he collapsed about five feet away from me.

I quickly moved toward him and crouched awkwardly by his side. He had several bleeding cuts and darkened bruises. His hair was a mess as it sprang out in certain regions like small geysers that enclosed drops of blood running down the side of his head. Upon closer inspection, it looked as though one or two of his fingers may have been broken (left ring and middle if I had to guess). He was making a pained gargling noise as he lay on his front side with a slight shiver about him. I tried to get him on his back by pushing his side as softly as I could.

"What happened man?" I asked him in sympathy.

Cochise smiled showing some battered teeth. "I got my ass handed to me man," he chuckled, "Whatsit' look like?"

"Where's the rest of the guys?"

He groaned and dropped his head on the ground, "Fucked if I know man... I've been down and out for long enough."

"So how'd you get all the way back here?"

"You got me, man. Force'a will. But I'll tell ya' right now, I'm spent. Just let me go for now."

"Fuck no man! I've seen these pricks walkin' these streets, and they sure as hell don't wanna' see our colors no more."

I helped him to his feet again as best I could. He staggered, so I lent him my shoulder as a crutch.

"C'mon, I'm getting' you outta' here," I encouraged him, "You can crash at my place."

He laughed a little, "Spoken like a warchief, young blood."

I ignored the comment, not knowing if he was busting on me or not. In any case, we made our way to the subway and finally traveled back home. We were finally out of another hellish location on the streets of New York. Believe me when I say, I was happy to go back.

5:29 AM

June 2, 1980

On the way back to Coney, Cochise filled me in on what went down after the guys were forced to abandon me. He told me how the Orphans sprung out of the dark and started to chuck "bricks and shit" at them. He told me how they packed chains and bats and all kinds of blunts. He also told me how he woke up and tried to wake some of his fallen men to no success. When I asked who went down, he responded saying, "Only Swan, Snow, Vermin and the big guy musta' gotten away." I had a short moment of silence in my head for Jerm and Lenney; the two that likely got wrecked for good. I was not too keen to either, but it is always sad to see one of your own go down so easily.

Luckily for us, my apartment is relatively close to the station, so it was not a long walk. Unfortunately, since I lived on the second floor, climbing the stair proved to be a challenge on both of us.

I opened door 269 (which I usually keep unlocked because I am lazy) and helped Cochise in. He sat on a stool near my counter.

"Shit, I need a smoke," I mumbled to myself as I snatched a box of cigarettes from the table, "You want one Cochise?"

"Sure man," he said as he turned the stool to me and grabbed one.

"Matches right next to ya', man."

We both lit up and relaxed for a few minutes. Normally, I wouldn't smoke, but I felt the night warranted at least one cigarette. Cochise seemed to think so too. Besides, it looked really cool in the dark room as the tips went up in fumes.

"You alright to crash on the couch?" I asked him as I went to my bed, smokes in hand.

"That's fine man, thanks," he smiled and put to use my sink as an ash tray, "I'll put in a word for you with Swan tomorrow."

I nodded and threw him a towel from the bathroom.

"Get yourself cleaned up. My landlady'll freak if you spill blood in here," I joked with him, and then pointed behind me, "First aid kit's under the sink if you need it."

"Yo, thanks a lot man," Cochise smiled painfully again, "Appreciate it."

Then I walked to my bed while lighting up again. I had a lot of thoughts in my head, and at least I finally had time to sort them somewhat properly. I would have never imagined the night would go anything like how it did. What was our next move _now_? Would we act like nothing happened? Would we seek vengeance for what those fucking Orphans did to us? I had so many questions plaguing me. Would Swan apologize to me and let me back? Would he ask me personally about Mercy? Should I tell him anyway? Perhaps after the war. And speaking of which, what will this night do to our reputation? Certainly if the Orphans could jump us, we may not look like the best gang to side with. I could not stand all the stress, so I took one last drag and put out my cigarette, letting out a large puff of smoke. I then took off my vest, shoes and pants, and went to bed. The moonless night sky did well to drown out my reoccurring insomnia.

4:57 PM

June 2, 1980

I awoke with a sharp hunger pain when I rolled on my stomach (coupled with the pain of where Swan punched me). It was too bad I did not take Vermin up on that idea of going to get pizza the night before. I did not even realize how long I slept until I looked at my clock, but it bothered me very little since I do not usually go to the hangout until sundown.

When I rolled out of bed, I took a shower and got dressed quickly. The kitchen/living room was empty, save an opened first aid kit, some band-aid packages and a pair of scissors next to a spool of roller bandages.

"Fuckin' Cochise..." I mumbled to myself, not actually peeved at him, just upset that I had to clean after just waking up. I put all the spare things but the scissors into the kit and slid it toward the bathroom. I then went to the refrigerator for some eggs and milk, then to the sink for a frying pan.

I drew a heavy sigh as I began to cook the eggs. Perhaps I was disappointed at the monotony of my life outside the Warriors. Things seemed so much more exciting when I had a mistress. Mercy turned out to be the best and worst thing to happen to me in a week's time. But I almost felt like enduring it all over again to feel like my routine was lifted above the boring paradigm.

This was the time of day I dreaded most. My life during the day was one of solitude and boredom. Ever since Rex was wasted, it was even more painfully lonely. I recalled how the two of us would walk the city around six o'clock and check out record shops and street vendors, speaking about sports, music and sometimes the status of our gang. We would hoot at the girls and flex off any wimps that go in our way. We really were good buddies, even if we never seemed to show it. This, as in most relations with friends, is what leads one to take things for granted. But life on the street happens too fast and a gang member like me cannot afford to get hung up on friends, nor women when he had turf to protect. Unfortunately, this thought does not help the boredom of the daytime. This predictable routine was a fate I could not help damning myself to. A fate that smelled like smoke and tasted like eggs.

After I ate, I did some stretches on the floor to help repair my calf muscle, as I stared out at the mid-afternoon sunlight near the window. Summer was closing in too fast, and I had better hope I was ready for the battle to come (suddenly assuming I was back in the gang). The Warriors were all I had left, and I would not let that go until my head had been properly smashed open.

I then sat near the window and turned up the radio. A smile suddenly filled my face as I looked out at the streets. Zeppelin was playing their thing!

9:05 PM

June 2, 1980

After several hours of working out and listening to the radio, I knew it was time to set things straight. I threw on a leather jacket and stowed my Warriors vest in one of the inner pockets (it was a tight fit, but it stayed in). I then turned off the radio and took to the streets. I felt a nervous tingle in my stomach, but tried to ignore it. For a guy part of a gang, I had never felt more independent in what I was about to do.

The streetlamps continued their predictably random flickering. They stood as my only light along the path to the hangout. My legs shook slightly with each step, as if they were much colder than the night would present. I wrapped my hand around the surprisingly frigid knob of the first floor door to the hangout and hoped for the best.

When I entered, I saw a few young bloods working out on the punching bag (Leos and Dozer were their names if I remember correctly). They stared at me as I passed, but I paid them no attention. Instead, I ascended the metal stairs to the main hangout floor. At the apex, I looked right and saw several Warriors talking and drinking. Among them were Swan, Snow, Cochise, Crash, Ajax and Cowboy, as well as several more young bloods. When I reached their level, they all suddenly stopped conversing and looked at me. I stared back at them, standing my ground as firmly as my common sense would allow me.

"Well what are you cocksuckas' lookin' at?" I said firmly, with my eyes half shut. I flared my nostrils and tried to look as menacing as possible.

"What did you just call us wimp?" Ajax responded in a more menacing tone. He approached, but was stopped by Swan.

"Leave him Ajax," he told him in his calm voice. Ajax shot him a stern look and raised his chin at him, but stepped back anyway. Swan did not look like he was as badly hurt as Cochise was, but certainly bared injured features. His face had several cuts and small bruises, his arms the same story. His knuckles were black and blue and I could tell he was in pain just from standing.

"You got something to tell me," I asked, keeping my harsh mood, "Warchief?"

"Look," he scratched his head, "I'm not good at this kinda' thing, but I gotta' admit," he drew a sigh looking at the floor, "You were right young blood."

I was so relieved to hear those words, I nearly smiled, but chose not to. I needed to show them that I meant business.

"You got that fuckin' right, man," I patronized him, still remaining strict.

"Look Turk, man," Snow butted in, "He's sorry. Whyn't you leave him alone."

I looked at Snow's injured frame and loosened the grip on my palms. I then stared at Swan, who did not flinch, but instead realized I was calming down.

"Hey Turk, you really stepped up to the plate for us last night," Swan told me, "I know, I was being an asshole, and I'm sorry for that."

"Awww... are you ladies gonna' kiss and make up," Ajax joked.

"Can it man," Cochise turned and snapped at him.

"Pfft, big guy," Ajax mumbled to himself and rolled his eyes.

"Welcome back to the Warriors hombre," Cowboy announced to me as he dangled his legs over the table he sat on.

"I think he deserves a bit more warchief," Cochise pointed at me with three fingers bandaged together.

"Agreed," Swan nodded his head (still not smiling), "Turk, you're an official lieutenant now. You're boppin' in the big leagues, so you better follow through. Besides, we need some more guys at full strength to guard this place."

I could not believe my ears. This was the best news I had heard in years. Finally, I was somebody in the Warriors. Finally, my reputation with the veterans would precede me. I was so happy, I considered hugging Swan.

"Fine, that'll do," I commented, deciding not to change my tone for sake of losing respect otherwise.

"So where are your colors, man?" Snow questioned me, shrugging his scraped shoulders.

"Thought you'd never ask," I finally smiled and removed my jacket to retrieve my vest. With pride and vigor, I dawned it, and accepted some high fives from the Warriors not hurting that badly (not including Ajax, but that was a given).

"Grab a cold one man," Crash suggested to me as the commotion died down, "We got a long night to go."

12:01 AM

June 3, 1980

22 days until the fight...

A few hours of drinking, talking, smoking and applying more suitable first aid passed. I lost count of the number of beers I downed, which is never a good sign. I grabbed some peanuts from one of the tables and sat down near the radio. Suddenly, the DJ came on the microphone and I quickly turned it up, hushing the others as well as I could.

"Good evening boppers. For the news that never gets old, you've tuned to the right station. The buildup of the NYC Grudge is pretty exciting. These boys are drafting just about anybody who can tussle. What clique isn't formin' up, without the Jesters, the Wizards and the Satan's Mothers. Who knows how many more teams will come together. But there's a twist in this story boppers. It seems the Coney Island Warriors took a massive blow, even before the big match up. That two-bit gang from Tremont saw to that. And I do mean the Orphans, and yes, this time we have eyewitness reports. Even their leader did not have to attend this confrontation to ensure victory. Warriors, what happened to you? I had such high expectations. I just hope you can get it together soon, or this finale will be all flash and no fury. For more scores in the works, check your local streets. Until next time boppers, _adios_."

The DJ signed off for the night playing "Hurt so Bad" by _Linda Ronstadt_.

"I can't believe that bitch just said that!" Vermin commented on the radio broadcast looking heavily disturbed.

"Well _I_ can't believe you guys let them do that to you!" Ajax responded.

"Whyn't you shut the fuck up big guy?" Cochise snapped at him.

"You want a piece of me champ?" Ajax ridiculed, "Maybe I should put on one of those fuckin' green shirts!"

"Knock it off guys," Rembrandt (who was there surprisingly early) warned them, "Swan wants to say something!"

Swan stood on one of the tables, despite what seemed like a painful attempt at balancing on it.

"Warriors!" he screamed at us in minor futility, "I got something to say!"

The talking died down and we all turned toward him. Rembrandt sat with the chair backwards leaning forward on the back rest, and Cowboy had his propped against a railing as it rest on the two back legs. Only the sounds of coughing and the radio (which I courteously turned back down) prevailed.

"Okay boys," Swan continued, "Now we really fucked up last night. I was afraid something like this would happen, but we might just lose support from our allies at this point."

There were groans and other forms of anguish following this remark.

"But I need you guys to pull it together for this fight. I can't have these low level gangs taking us by surprise. We need to repair our network and get some new boys in to replace our losses. If things get as bad as they could, we might have to defend our turf by ourselves. Now I just wanna' know you boys'll stick with me 'til this is all over."

There was a predictable uproar of cheer at this comment as Warriors stood up from their seats and shrieked with support. It was the perfect (and very cliché) form of encouragement for the men. But I cheered nonetheless, even though I would not agree with following Swan to the death given the situation from the previous night. In fact, it was difficult to imagine why other Warriors were not against him. Then I realized that perhaps we do not need to follow Swan as a person, by rather, follow the gang and what was best for it. If Swan wanted full respect from me, he would need to show a little more dedication rather than a promotion (not to discount it by any means). Perhaps all the drinking was starting to get me upset. I sat down soon after.

"And one more thing guys," Swan added, finally with a small smile, "Vermin thinks it's high time we get the Riffs on our network."


	9. Preparations

Chapter 9: Preparations

11:44 PM

June 4, 1980

21 days until the fight...

As we all returned to the hangout, spirits were low. This was not surprising as we all returned from a rather sad send off of our departed Warriors (as was traditional when Swan was in command). It consisted of the same sort of concept any other funeral would have, in that we would gather and say things about the ones we lost. Although we had none of the bodies, in our minds, we put Jerm, Lenney and of course Rex all to rest. It took place under the pier for a little less than an hour, and despite the melancholy atmosphere, I did not see a single tear shed (perhaps because we were too "macho" to do so). It ended with pigeon feathers being swept into the ocean (two for each Warrior). Vermin would not have aloud a ceremony like that to happen. He rarely showed sympathetic emotion, which is fine for a bopper, but sort of sad in itself for a normal human being.

Nobody seemed to talk when we all settled in. Perhaps we were all in a depressed stupor, and could do no less. No exciting pinball games. No slaps and bangs on the punching bag. Just the sound of glasses making contact with tables, the occasional cough or sneeze, and the smooth tunes on the radio. I sat alone at a table near the window and stared out, not actually focusing on anything in particular. That was when Swan pulled a seat up next to me.

"I haven't seen Mercy in days," he complained softly, "I still got all her shit tucked away at my place. You sure you don't know where she ended up?"

"Positive warchief," I nodded, "She just took off and didn't look back."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his messy hair, "I know I can't forgive her for what happened, but I can't help but feel bad for her."

"But dude, she nearly got you guys killed, man," I responded.

"I know, it's just... well... I wish you could understand what I'm going through."

And on that ironic note, he left as quickly as he arrived. I decided to merge with the crowd as well, since the silence began to break among the other tables. I sat down with Cowboy, Cochise and Vermin, who were just talking about preparations for the next big smash and grab in Riverside.

"Just sayin', man," Vermin commented excitedly, "We get that whirly-bird in deep enough, we can get in and out in a flash! No cops, no nothin'!"

"Yeah, but that thing's gonna' make way too much noise," Cowboy added in a pessimistic way, "The pigs are sure to catch wind if we got somethin' like that givin' us away."

"Dude, Vermin, what's wrong with doin' it the old fashioned way, man?" I asked.

"Come on man, it's fool proof!" Vermin exclaimed with a smile across his face.

"Look, Swan just got offa' gettin' the shit beat outta' him the other night," I said pointing with my thumb toward our warchief, "You really wanna' ride in a chopper with a guy in that condition?"

Vermin sighed and looked at Swan. "Man what I'd give to ride in one a' those things though, man," he replied anxiously.

"Yo! Listen up Warriors!" Snow exclaimed from across the room as he turned up the volume on the radio. We all eased in and listened.

"...of this big city. Now sit back and take in an earful. Well I got good news and bad news Warriors. The bad is that I've been asked to relay a message from the Saracens, Panzers and Rangers. Apparently, they won't be caught dead on the losing team; especially after that shut out with the Orphans. But the good news is, I'm getting word that the Orphans' leader Sully is on the disabled list, permanently. Looks like all that hustle, bustle and tussle from Tremont wasn't enough to prevent their all-star from strikin' out. I still got hope for you yet babies. And Grudge, do play fair. That's all for now boppers. Later..."

The DJ signed off by playing _The Rolling Stones'_ "Street Fighting Man".

We were shocked when we heard our support was gone, even though it should not have been too unpredictable. In any case, things seemed to go from bad to worse. But like most radio broadcasts, the Warriors also observed the second half.

"Wait, Sully's done for?" Cowboy asked, "You guys never told me that."

"I didn't know, man," Cochise responded.

I leaned back and smiled in a less than guile form of modesty. Then the boys looked at me and put the pieces together. Vermin grinned and stood up.

"You did that Turk?" he asked, more incredulous than I had expected.

"Serves that little punk right, man," Cochise said.

"But why'd you do it?" Cowboy then asked.

This was not really a question that warranted pondering. Cochise was correct in saying he deserved it. What more did they need?

"I saw him givin' orders to attack you guys," I protested, "Had to be done."

"And don't you think those boys are feelin' pretty ballsy right now?" Cowboy continued, "'Specially after they got done wreckin' us."

"What's your point?" I asked, getting rather irritated at Cowboy's complaints.

"I'm sayin' those dudes'll probably be on our turf like flies on horse shit."

"Cowboy's right, man," Cochise agreed, "I ain't never seen those dudes so ready to kick some ass. If they don't show, their rep'll go down the tubes... even if it's just for the moment."

"Then let's step up our scouting," Swan entered the conversation from behind Cochise, "Make sure the Orphans don't hit our turf or our stores."

"What are you ladies so afraid of?" Ajax came in from behind Swan, "I'll take 'em all on myself."

We were probably all thinking we would like to see him try that. Ajax talked a lot of talk, but I had not seen him bop yet. He claims to have taken down about thirty or forty Destroyers his first night as a Warrior with Snow by his side. Whether or not that is true, is hard to say. If anything, Ajax had the spirit of a brawler, and for that, he has not yet lost my respect.

"You wish, big boy," Vermin courageously poked fun at Ajax.

"I don't gotta' wish," Ajax stood his ground, "I just do it."

"Whatever, man," Vermin looked back down at the table on a napkin he was writing an address upon.

"So that's the place?" Cowboy asked.

"Accordin' to the phone book," Vermin said with a grin, "Should be the perfect target. Got all the blunts we need."

"Won't need that many now that our boys shook on us," Swan pointed out (seemed commonplace to be pessimistic in this scene).

Vermin ignored these words and continued on about how the heist (if you could call it that) would pan out. He used a pencil and a mangy old notebook to draw out our points of entry and exit. He recruited the men he would take that night (including myself) and began describing how we could jack some wheelbarrows to get the supplies back. He seemed very excited, since stealing was his line of work. My only hope was that he did not get too carried away, because he was pulling warchief that night; just like old times.

An hour or so passed as we reviewed the plan over and over. It seemed Vermin did not want any slip-ups, especially after the other night. Then, almost as predictable as a new moon, Rembrandt ran up the stairs, out of breath and in a hurry. At this point, we tended to ignore his tardiness, and kept our minds relatively out of the gutter.

As Rembrandt was greeting some other Warriors, Swan, whom wore another serious look on his face, approached him.

"You missed the funeral, buddy," Swan scolded softly.

"Oh, shit," Rembrandt responded in guilt, "That was tonight?"

"I need you there for loyalty's sake, little man."

"I know warchief, I'm sorry," Rembrandt hung his head low.

"What've you been up to anyway?"

"Well... I can't... um..." Rembrandt froze mid-sentence.

"Relax Swan," I interrupted, trying to help the artist, "He's been out late most every night for a while now."

"Whatever it is Warrior, it can wait," Swan focused on Rembrandt, "I can't have our boys gettin' wrecked, especially when I'm not on watch."

"I hear ya' Warlord," Rembrandt said with respect in his voice, "I'll try to get here faster."

I could tell Swan was under a lot of stress. Nobody wanted him to be this way, and nobody asked him to sacrifice as much as he did. In fact, life must have been sweet before he came back to New York. He was in an awesome city, had a hot girlfriend/wife and had a gang at home with intangible, but still credible respect. Perhaps life would have been better for me if he stayed away, but what happened, happened. There was no use dwelling on the past now. The future was already looking much darker.

"What the hell's wrong with Swan?" Rembrandt asked me, aside from our Warchief.

"See what you miss when you're out, man?" I responded, "He's got a lotta' shit on his plate right now. Can't take no chances."

"Guess not."

"But Rembrandt, man. You shoulda' been there for the funeral at least. Sign a' respect, ya' dig?"

"Yeah, man. I just forgot about it."

"So when's that piece gonna' be done?" I nudged him, changing the topic, "You been talkin' about it for weeks, man."

"You'll see," he smiled, "When this is all over, you'll see."

1:40 AM

June 5, 1980

20 days until the fight...

The subway was refreshingly cool that particular night. When you are crammed into a train with a handful of sweaty (and often shirtless) gang members, it can get a bit stuffy. Most of the Warriors still at one hundred percent were recruited that night to go to Riverside. Vermin, Ajax, Rembrandt (who was getting a low down on the plan was we rode), Cowboy, Cody, Leos, Dozer and myself were enroute to the smash and grab. Snow and Cochise were pulling scout back home, and Swan said he would try to find the Riffs and talk to their leader, Masai.

I did not know much about Leos and Dozer other than the fact that they were brothers and they were of Argentinean decent (like Rex as a matter of fact). They were just starting to work their way up the ranks in the Warriors, as they were currently the replacements for Lenney, Jerm and Rex in essence. I knew even less about Cody. He had been in the gang longer than me, but never really proved himself too well. But enough about the young bloods. For all I knew, they could have been gone after that night.

The train squealed into Riverside as Vermin gave us some final words before the mission.

"Now you boys know enough not to go messin' with the Furies," Vermin announced, "So if you see any, go the opposite way."

"They ain't that tough," Ajax commented predictably.

"And I want this job to be quick and efficient," Vermin went on. Although I neither said it nor showed it, I felt like this whole plan was thrown together in a heartbeat. But then again, some of the best plans were made in the heat of the moment; as well as some of the worst.

We began to walk the breezy streets. The streetlights on the road we took were out, but the stores up ahead were lit perfectly. Vermin moved on with an excited swagger in his step. Apparently he really enjoyed stealing.

With the constant worry of cops and the Furies impeding our march, we slowly approached the hardware store. But no sooner did we lay foot on the well-lit street were we stopped by a group of men in black suits, gloves and ties. The looked like they dressed in a style synonymous with the Mafia.

"I can't let you fellas' go any further," the well-dressed man in front told us, "By order of the Hi-Hats."

"Well you can tell the Hi-Hats to fuck off man!" Ajax exclaimed.

"We don't want any trouble now boys," the man snapped his fingers as many more of his fellow members moved in, "Do we?"

"We're not goin' anywhere, partner," Cowboy said with a laidback look about him.

"Fine, then pay the hard..." the man was cut off as Vermin shoved him forcefully and he fell to the ground.

"Spread out!" he ordered, "All of ya'!"

I was taken by surprise and just darted in one particular direction that looked dark enough to hide. Luckily, Cowboy and Rembrandt were by my side. We ran for what seemed like a hundred yards and waited in a dark nook of a building. The other gang was searching madly for us, but came up short. Then they calmed down and began searching more thoroughly.

"Who the hell are these pricks?" I whispered to Cowboy.

He filled me in. They were the Black Hands, the one and only official gang for hire in New York. They were also another gang at the meeting last year. Unlike most gangs, they dress sharply. Their leader, Nichi, was obsessed with selling his gang as much as possible and profiting along the way.

Cowboy's night eye was much sharper than mine, and he led us to a dark corner outside the hardware store. Outside the store, there was a phone booth with a line that was not destroyed (and believe me, that was rare). He came up with a plan.

In a gutsy move, he left the safety of the dark and jumped into the phone booth. I could not hear his conversation, but according to him, he tipped off the police that a bunch of guys in suits were raiding the hardware store. Before any more Black Hands could find him, he ran back to us and signaled for me to do my part of the plan. With one quick throw, I hurled a nearby rock through the store window. An alarm sounded, and it distracted the Black Hands. One by one, they gathered around tried to turn it off before the police came. Others just stood outside and talked about where we might be.

Suddenly, about a dozen police officers arrived and began tackling the gang members. I saw one cop drop a Black Hand right to his back and immediately slap bracelets on him. Most of the other cops had about the same luck (these dudes did not take any shit). The Black Hands that escaped ran for their lives, not even paying any mind to the members who were subdued. I remembered hearing one Black Hand say to another that this spot was far too hot to stay at. So with that, the Black Hands left Riverside as fast as they arrived (and how they knew we would be there that night was beyond me. Perhaps the Hi-Hats were scouting better than we thought. Or maybe they had an inside man).

Meanwhile, the police began disabling the alarm and made some radio transmissions. After about an hour, most of the cops left, except for two whom had to guard the store due to the broken window. The plan had worked like a charm.

It was then that Cowboy signaled us to follow him. He took us further into the darkness, down a separate road that was still masked in shadows. We eventually crossed the street and approached the cops. Cowboy snatched up a brick on the ground, Rembrandt took a bottle and I chose a trashcan lid.

The police jabbered to each other about how much they hated their job and how little fun their sex lives were (at least that was what I assumed they were talking about). Cowboy moved in closer and closer to the cop near him. At last, he tapped him on the shoulder and clobbered the cop right in the head with the brick. Before the second cop could even reach his radio, Rembrandt chucked the bottle at his body and I threw the lid at his face like a Frisbee. He took two hard hits and fell over. We then proceeded to beat them mercilessly until we were sure they would not get up any time soon. For a time, it looked like the coast was clear.

Cowboy stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear piercing signal whistle for the Warriors. All the while, Rembrandt and I took the cuffs from the cops and strapped them on their owners, just in case they rose again. We also turned their radios off. Despite all odds, the plan could continue.

Vermin and Ajax arrived after a minute or two, while our three young bloods were still missing. Vermin was impressed to see the job we did on the police, and intrigued at how we evacuated the Black Hands. But hastily, he knew we could not start stealing without the rest of our gang, lest another alarm go off.

"Rembrandt," he said, "I want you to go find the rest of those guys. If you run into any trouble, come find us."

"Sure thing Vermin," he nodded his head.

While we waited, Vermin proceeded to strip weapons and cash off of the knocked out officers, and Cowboy inspected the lock. Ajax merely cracked his knuckles and spit into the pavement. The cool air from the wind rushed along my pant legs, and I shivered slightly. There was sure to be rain soon. I took a seat on the cold curb and stared off into one of the many streetlights, like an indirect moth. For one reason or another, I began to anticipate the fact that I was no longer going to be a teenager. I had an awkward feeling that I had accomplished little in those golden years, and was already on my way to adulthood. I had never even had a true girlfriend in that time. The 70s were over and so was my adolescence. It was almost enough to make a guy burst into tears. But luckily, Rembrandt had returned with Cody, Leos and Dozer before I got too moody. Apparently, they had not stirred any trouble.

"Well let's get this started guys!" Vermin exclaimed excitedly.

Cowboy was right on his comment and began a grueling process of picking the lock with a trusty lockpick he kept on him. With the click of a tumbler, the door flew open and the alarm did not sound a second time. We were all relieved to see that we had all night long to finish the job. We relished every item that was thrown into the wheelbarrows. Hammers, pipes, chains, 2x4's, wrenches, iron bars and bricks piled up, as Vermin took some time to predictably take apart the cash register and snatch all the loot he could. After about fifteen minutes of "shopping" we exited the store one by one and walked our way to the train. Cowboy remembered to close up before we left.

"Man, that couldn't have gone better!" Vermin grinned madly.

"Gotta' admit, you guys did good," Leos said.

Suddenly, the city street filled with cry of a gun firing. I heard Rembrandt give a frightened yell, which in turn freaked me out. I looked left and right, but could not find the shooter. My pulse rushed as I heard another shot, but could not tell from where.

"Shit!" Cowboy exclaimed and pushed me forward, "Move it man!"

It was then I figured out the gunman was behind me. The only reason I did not know this was because I had always suffered a hearing problem for sounds behind me. Everything seemed audible to me from my side and front, but when I hear sounds from behind me, I get horribly confused.

In any case, we were all running for our lives with no other care in the world but to take our loot back home. I turned my head after a third shot rang. The man chasing us was thankfully obese and would never catch us at this rate (even if we were all dragging heavy loads). The best he could hope to do was to take us down with the handgun he aimed at us (I would go out on a limb and say this guy was the store owner). The man had a mustache and wore light blue pajamas with a bathrobe of the same color. As he chased us, he screamed every swear word I had ever heard in my life and his face grew redder and redder.

"Ahhh... shit!" Vermin cried out, "Right in the gash, man!"

A bullet had grazed him on his arm and presumably in an old wound. But despite being shaken up by the experience, he plodded on while dragging the wheelbarrow as fast as he could.

Five shots had rung out. Then there were six, and I thought we had reached a safe zone, but Cowboy instructed us to keep moving, as it is never truly certain if he had extra ammo, or a bigger clip. We found the subway station and had to slowly descend the stairs without dropping anything. On the second flight, Rembrandt's wheelbarrow toppled and spilt tools all over the place.

"Leave it!" Vermin yelled, " Just grab what you can!"

Rembrandt picked up some of the merchandise and followed us. At the bottom of the stairs, a single metal turnstile confronted us. Ajax took care of that problem by picking up one of the sledgehammers and clobbering the gate with it, toppling it on its side a good twenty feet away. It was one of the coolest acts of destruction I had ever seen. We pushed the goods by and found a train all ready for departure (again, in a random stroke of luck). We piled everything in, and sat back as the subway headed south.

On the way home, Ajax continued to piss about how no real action came of the night. Vermin was counting the money he stole, not even paying mind to the fact that he was bleeding.

"Ain't you glad you're doin' this again, little man," Cowboy nudged Rembrandt.

"You know it, man," he smiled, "But I forgot one thing."

He pulled out a can of spray paint from his letter carrier and sprayed a red "W" on all of the wheelbarrows.

"Nice one man," I told him.

Spirits seemed to pick up, considering how low they were before. Pretty much everything that could go right, did for once. It was a satisfying feeling that I would like to have again in the future.

3:56 AM

June 5, 1980

The rickety squeal of the wheelbarrows joined us as we pushed open the doors to our hangout. We parked them near the punching bag and ascended the stairs to the main floor. There, Swan, Snow, Cochise, Crash and other young bloods were vegetating and talking. As we arrived, they all looked at us.

"Mission accomplished warchief!" Vermin exclaimed, "Now can I get a fuckin' band-aid?"

He pointed out the bullet wound he received earlier and was given a bandage from one of the young bloods. We took turns telling Swan what happened that night and how we got all the weapons we needed at the bottom of the stairs. He was pleased, but said he could not talk to Masai directly that night. Instead, he was scheduled to speak with him the proceeding night.

"Oh, and before I forget," Vermin reached into his pocket and threw down a large wad of cash which probably totaled a thousand dollars or so. Swan nodded his head, as Vermin grinned. It made me wonder what the gang even needs money for when we can just steal what we need.

"Good job Warriors," Swan said raising a beer, "Cheers."

We all grabbed drinks and lounged around. Snow told me that nothing happened while scouting and that he preferred it that way. This must have been due to the fact that the Orphans will be scouting Coney in the next few nights.

Afterwards, I said my goodbyes, and headed home for the night.

12:04 AM

June 6, 1980

24 days until the fight...

This was the big night. Swan was taking us to confront the Riffs and beg for protection. Unlike the night before, he took several Warriors, including Cowboy, Snow, Ajax and myself. It was a really good feeling to have respect in my gang, especially since my injury was on the point of full recovery. It was still slightly painful to walk, but it never once inhibited my actions. I was ready for anything, even a full-scale war.

"Alright boppers, here's what's to know in the big city. Riverside was quite a show as a group of Black Hands were wrangled by the boys in blue, while the Warriors snuck by with the goods. I guess you can't always throw money at your problems, honey. Speaking of the Warriors, I have another message to give them. The Orphans saw what you boys did and they want some good old-fashioned revenge. Let's just hope round two is a little less one sided. And finally, the NYC Grudge has called off recruitment. They stand over ten gangs strong and are ready for some extermination. Beware boppers; this crew is lean and mean. So try to enjoy the nights before they come in swingin'. Until we cross airwaves again babies, that's all for now."

The DJ signed off and played "Sultans of Swing" by _Dire Straits_ (which was fast becoming one of my favorite songs ever).

"I knew those fucks would be beggin' for more," Ajax responded to the Orphans' threat, "And they ain't wreckin' us as long as I'm around."

Indeed, it was going to be an interesting bout to behold in the future, but now was a time to prepare for the task at hand. Swan gave us the order, and we were off (and right before that awesome end solo).

As the subway made its way to our destination, Swan gave us the usual word about what was going down.

"Warriors, this is our last chance to save our asses," he told us seriously, "So I'm not gonna' see this chance lost just 'cause one of you guys misspoke. I want all of you guys to still look tough, but if you start flexin' muscle, I got a bad feeling they'll come down on us. And don't you think about talkin', unless spoken to. I'm really hopin' to strike gold tonight, so let's hope for the best."

The train let us out up north and we began a five-block walk to Gramercy Park. As predicted, it was raining that night, and the wind blew a little harder than my comfort zone. But we kept on going as Swan led us to a Riff affiliate who would take us to Masai.

We crossed through the park and entered a warehouse. Inside, it was much warmer and we dripped off for a while before continuing in. We were brought to a large room where several Riffs stood in lines of equal length and width. In front of them stood their leader.

"Riffs!" Masai shouted.

"Yeah right!" the entire square of troops responded in a booming sound.

"We have visitors," he said in a calmer voice.

Masai was a medium height black man with a long black robe and large black aviator sunglasses, of which he always wore (even in the dead of night). He had a powerful, booming voice that could be heard a mile away. He seemed to talk in short sentences that carried a lot of momentum.

"It's an honor to see you again, man," Swan nodded to Masai.

"The honor," Masai exclaimed, "Is all mine. What can I do for you?"

"Well you may know by now," Swan put his hand on the back of his head, "That we're in a war with a couple gangs around the city."

"We know, Warriors. We listen to the radio."

"Right, well I'm afraid we got nowhere else to turn but to you guys."

Masai stared at Swan with an expressionless gaze, "We Riffs are a peaceful gang. The last thing we want is a gang _war_."

"Well if you guys join up, maybe they'll back down."

"And what if they don't Warriors!"

"Look, we're willing to pay you guys a ton of cash."

"First of all, we are not for sale, suckas'. Second, we would rather see sovereignty than money any day."

"Well you know there's gonna' be a war either way," he exclaimed with frustration in his voice, "So you had better join before you get dragged in too!"

"Quite frankly Warriors, I don't see you winning this. Whatever you started, you have to finish alone. The Riffs will still remain after this, because we make the right choices. We choose to keep the peace," he clapped his hands, "Riffs!"

"Yeah right!" the gang yelled again.

"Escort the Warriors out of here," Masai commanded.

Guards surrounded us and grabbed us by the arms, pulling us to the door softly, as long as we cooperated. Ajax met them with some hostility, but Swan was the most rebellious of all.

"You can't turn us down man!" he cried, "We're begging you!"

Masai turned away from him, and proceeded in the opposite direction, as if all Swan said was gibberish.

"You fuckers killed Cleon, man!" he screamed in desperation. At this, Masai stopped and stared at Swan, whose face was red hot with anger and soaked with sweat. But before any more words were exchanged, we were all carried away and thrown into the rain.


	10. Target Practice

Chapter 10: Target Practice

1:13 AM

June 10, 1980

15 days until the fight...

It was becoming unbearable. Morale was at an all time low, and a lot of Warriors were feeling as though these pre-summer days would be their last. It was indeed a scary thought that all of us could meet our end in less than two weeks. Some may argue that we deserve to die after some of the things we did. We made too many enemies and not enough friends. It was all part of a plan to weed us out and remove the irritating thorn in the streets of New York known as our gang. But this was the reason a truce can never happen. Truces get changed, overridden, broken or abused. The sad truth was that there was no peace between gangs, only peace between members, and sometimes even that peace seems absent. It made me think perhaps that the NYC Grudge would betray itself and crumble from within. Perhaps one gang would break the code of weapons, or not show for meetings, or maybe speak down to their Hi-Hat "superior". It was their problem to deal with, but whatever happened, we agreed to honor the rules set by our enemy and would show them that the Warriors' final moments were of grand duality and glory.

The night rolled on as Snow and I hit the punching bag, knowing all too well that there was not much else we could indeed do.

"Well, what do you think, man?" I asked him, "We got a chance of this happenin'?"

"I don't know, brah," Snow commented, "I just don't."

"You scared?"

"Shit no, I ain't scared man! I always wanted to die like a Warrior anyway. With a bat in one hand, and busted teeth in the other. Why, are you scared?"

"No, no. Not at all."

Of course I was scared. There was no reason not to be. And despite anybody's efforts, they were frightened out of their minds. The only person to really show it though was Rembrandt. I only wished I had not built such a tough reputation.

"You know what's goin' down tonight?" Snow asked.

"Not sure, man," I said, "Couldn't tell ya'."

The past few nights were pretty uneventful. We had not seen any scouts around, and Rembrandt was showing up on time again. Vermin had gotten his arm stitched up pretty well too. There were also several threats from the Orphans springing over the past week. I did not really know or care what they would do, but it would likely be enough to piss us off.

I took a heavy swing at the bag with my right leg and looked up at Swan. He was alone, silent and looking at a map of New York City.

"What'cha think _he's_ thinkin' about?" I pointed to Swan with my thumb.

"Dunno', man," Snow shook his head.

I moved on to the chin up bar and did about five repetitions. I was feeling less stiffness in my leg when I tucked it in. It was good to see old injuries repair. Even Snow's bruised body was looking back to normal.

Suddenly, one of our young blood scouts (I think his name was Bobby), busted into the hangout. He was almost gibbering, but he eventually got his words straight.

"Orphans, man!" he screamed, "At our stores!"

"Shit!" Snow exclaimed as he and I ran out to the streets. Only a matter of time was right. I had a bad feeling that this time, the Orphans were going all out.

Crossing the street, we could see Orphans storming the meat market. We ran quickly to protect the store. Inside, the old Italian butcher was warding off Orphans using a cheese grater as a weapon (which was much more effective than it sounded). As one Orphan tried to grab his wallet, the old man smashed him across the face, leaving bloody fissures and forests of white, dead skin flakes.

"Warriors!" he yelled, "I thought you'd never come!"

We had arrived in the store and were itching for a good fight. I pushed one Orphan flat on his back when he tried to tackle me. He let out a pained wheeze, followed by a brutal shriek as I stomped his chest several times. I was then hit in the side with a chair (which did not break on impact). I spun around and grabbed the chair legs before another strike could happen. I then pushed it up and jammed the top of the chair against the Orphan's throat. As he fell back, I jumped on the now grounded chair and axe kicked him to the ground. The next Orphan did not seem to know what he was doing and kicked me in the shin vigorously. It hurt like hell, but did not really disable me. I charged the Orphan with my shoulder and tackled him to the floor (which was covered in glass shards from their vandalism). I pummeled him for a while before pushing up to my feet, with my legs against his stomach. I gave him a few more kicks and went to see how Snow was doing. Snow, the master he was, had four Orphans down and out. He was already working on throwing them out of the store one by one.

"Garbage day, man," he smiled as he flung one into a dark corner of the alley.

"Thank you Warriors," the butcher said, "Ay, it's a'gonna be torture getting this store back together."

"Then skip your payment tomorrow," Snow told him.

"Thank you my friends," he nodded his head and smiled.

"Stay alert man," Snow warned, "These fuckers could hit you again anytime from now to day break."

"I understand."

"We'll send some more boys as soon as they get here; make sure these suckas' don't come back."

"You guys are lifesavers."

"Come on Turk, I bet they already got to Twiggy's place," Snow instructed me to follow.

I nodded, and we sprinted outside and down the alley. We hopped two fences and landed ourselves at "The Little Buddha" arcade. Sure enough, Orphans were already terrorizing Twiggy and smashing his merchandise.

"Chill out dudes!" he protested in a tweaked out fear, "We can settle this like gentlemen!"

"Twiggy, man!" Snow yelled, "Get down!"

Twiggy ducked behind the counter as I picked up a broken table leg and went to work. I thrust the leg at the back of one Orphans neck and his head snapped in an odd fashion as he turned around and was met with a harsh blow across the face. I stared down another Orphan, who came prepared with a switchblade (and no matter how many times I see it, it is still freaky to see those things spring out in front of your face). As he swung sideways at my chest, I was lucky enough to catch the blade in the piece of wood I held, and twist it out of his grasp. He stumbled a little, and I smashed him right over the head, and he was down. I made it a priority to grab the knife and catch up with Snow. He had an Orphan in a full nelson and was awaiting my next move. The Orphan was losing his mind as I approached with the knife. I spun the blade in my hand and looked to Snow. He nodded, and I leaned in on the helpless Orphan. I carved a five square inch "W" into his forehead with four quick slashes (no, I did not kill him). As the blood trickled out his wound, he closed his eyes and yelled in pain. I just stared until he open his eyes again and grounded him with an elbow to the cheek as he collapsed to the floor. We then took the knocked out Orphans and tossed them out.

"Yeah, man!" Twiggy cheered, followed by some coughing, "You showed those Martians! If they try that shit again, I'll give 'em the same," he then started to punch the air with a determined look on his face.

"Yeah..." Snow was a little freaked out, "We'll send some guys anyway Twiggy."

"Suit yourself Warriors," he said, not even looking at us, but instead at the wall he seemed so hell bent on sparring with.

It was then that Cowboy and Cochise arrived.

"Man, we need y'all help at 'Voodoo Motors'!" Cochise demanded.

We did not hesitate, and sprinted to the car lot to help Skinny Pete. When we arrived, Ajax and Pete were already trying to ward off the upcoming attack. "Voodoo Motors" was much bigger than most of the other stores, so there were far more Orphans present. We entered the lot and picked our foes. I chose an Orphan with a lead pipe, since I was strapped with a knife. He seemed a little intimidated, but stood tall as I approached. I tried to slash him, but he pushed me away with the pipe in a defensive manner. My wrist made fairly heavy contact with the pipe, but I was okay. He wound up and swung at my head, but I ducked just in time. Then I used the momentum of my ducking stance to stab him directly in the abdomen. I then grabbed his back and pushed his body further into the blade. He was then lifted up and thrown into the fence, bleeding horrifically. He clenched his teeth and forced his eyes shut, letting out a torturous noise. I shook the blood off the switchblade and pointed it toward an Orphan who saw what I did.

"Eat shit!" I yelled and flung the weapon at him. He was quick to react and moved his head away just in time to avoid a deadly strike. The knife missed him and fell outside the fenced area. The Orphan was so relieved at his reprieve that he did not see me deliver a roundhouse kick to his head until it was too late. The slapping sound it made on contact was duet with a jumble of pain. He fell to the ground and spit a good deal of blood out. But I would give him no mercy, and kicked him while he was down in the same place he got hit before. He shrieked louder and held his face in agony. If he knew what was good for him, he would stay down. But just in case, I found a nearby cinder block and hurled it at his back to knock him out.

The remaining Orphans were crumbling one by one to our forces. Cowboy and Cochise made a great team, as one clobbered an Orphan in the face with his elbow, and the other swept him across the legs with an old muffler. Ajax pinned one Orphan against the fence and kept ramming him over and over, until the gate eventually tore a little. This caused the Orphan's face to submit to a wretched, bloody imprint, and left his body broken. Then came the process of chucking the Orphans out, and onto the streets. This time around, we threw them into a neat dog pile near some trashcans.

"Thank God, mon," Pete was very gracious, "I taught' for sure dose' guys'd finish off da' place."

"Just lay low for a while, partner," Cowboy told him with his hand out.

"Ya' got it Warriors," he nodded, "Just don't be leavin' me high and dry now."

"Come on guys," Cowboy instructed, "Swan's waitin' for us at the plumbing store!"

We followed without second thoughts. Well, except for Ajax, who just followed because he did not want to stand there alone with Pete. We ran the next two blocks and found Swan, Vermin, Crash, Dozer and some other young bloods fighting the Orphans. They did not really need our help, as the battle was near an end, even if it was the biggest store we had. Swan rammed a guy into the wall and kicked his side when he was down. Vermin had a sledgehammer (from our stash) and delivered a massive blow to an Orphans hip. The Orphan gave a profane yell, but was hit in the shoulder with a vertical attack. I thought for sure I heard bones popping upon impact. Even the young bloods were throwing down rather well, although they would occasionally need support from their superiors.

"Warriors!" Swan cried as he directed us in with his hands, "I need you boys to cover all the stores!"

More Warriors were arriving now. They crowded in the area outside the plumbing store and listened.

"I want the right number of guys to each store!" he continued, "I have a good feeling there'll be more dudes on the way!"

We collectively decided where we needed to be, and with who. Rembrandt, Crash and I were instructed to cover "The Little Buddha". I was not quite ready to comfort Twiggy again.

We took off rather quickly toward the arcade, and checked inside to make sure no more Orphans had gotten in. Sure enough, the reinforcements had not yet arrived. This was a bit of a relief for all of us, and we stood outside the store.

"I don't get it Turk," Rembrandt said, "I mean, why do these guys wanna' see us dead? Didn't they prove enough the other night?"

"No gang's grudge is ever complete," I told him, sounding more insightful than I expected, "The other night, they didn't find out 'til later that Sully got wasted."

"Really?" he was intrigued, "But how'd they know it was us?"

"Couldn't tell ya'," I shook my head, "But I'm the man behind it."

"You wasted Sully?"

"You bet..." the next words would have been 'your ass I did', but I was cut off as a brick suddenly crashed into my chest. The pain was enormous, as the brick broke some small bits off on impact, before completely shattering when the ground was hit. The last thing I remembered seeing before I was hit was an old newspaper floating in the breeze. The pain I felt made me know that in the future, I would get uneasy whenever I saw a newspaper like that one. I howled in pain for a brief moment and clenched my teeth with my hand on the punctured area. Luckily, Rembrandt and Crash helped pull me into the arcade before another one could land.

"What... the fuck was that?" I asked, wheezing a little.

"Orphans, man," Crash replied, "On the rooftops."

"How many?"

"I dunno. Four... maybe five..."

"I'll kill those dicks!" I rose to my feet in rage.

"They got us pinned down, man," Rembrandt interjected, "They're sure to hit us again if we try to make a run by them."

"Fine, then what do we do?" Crash asked, looking outside to find more bricks flying toward the glass door. It was only a matter of time before they broke it.

I wished we had a back door to the place, but this particular store was covered by buildings on three sides and only had the one entrance that I knew of. I looked over at Twiggy, who was rather fascinated with a green foam finger. "Twiggy!" he shook and looked at me.

"What is it man?" he asked, swaying a little.

"You got any back doors around here we don't know about?" I asked, going for broke.

"Nah man," he shook his head, "Not unless... wait you guys aren't cops are you?"

"We're the Warriors, Twig!" Rembrandt let him know.

"The Warriors? I heard of them man... they're tough sons of bitches. Okay I think I can trust you guys."

Twiggy opened a cabinet behind the counter to reveal a secret tunnel that led into darkness as far as I knew.

"Need a safe place in case the cops come," Twiggy said with a proud look on his face, "And take my magical buddy with you! His name is Johnny!"

He handed me a jungle green flashlight, "Who the hell is..." I looked down and saw the name in marker on the flashlight's side, "Johnny?"

We approached the tunnel and I shined the light on the darkness.

"Okay, Crash I need you to distract those guys so they keep their positions," I told him.

"I'll try to do that," he looked outside again at the door being smashed by bricks, "But don't be surprised if I take a few bruises."

"You'll live," I said tapping on my chest, which was now bleeding a little through my blue shirt, "Let's go, man," I waved Rembrandt over to the tunnel and I pointed "Johnny" up to what I assumed was the end of the tunnel.

When we first started to travel into the darkness, Twiggy closed the tunnel door and the smell of sewage filled the air. I tried as hard as I could to breath through my mouth and make this trip as painless as possible. The tunnel dipped down for what seemed like four feet as we continued to crawl. The dark passage led into the sewers (as predicted) where a ladder could be seen about five yards left of where the tunnel let out. I pointed it out to Rembrandt and we dropped down into the damp floor of the New York City sewers. We ascended the ladder and forced the lid of the manhole up and out of our way. I helped Rembrandt up and (despite being a little dizzy) pinpointed where I thought the Orphans were by following their voices. We found a retracted fire escape ladder and jumped to grab it. My first jump was a failure as I tripped a little on my left leg, but the second one stuck and I pulled as hard as I could to get myself up to the higher rungs. Rembrandt followed me with a better jump and we climbed to the rooftops.

Atop the building, we could clearly see the Orphans hooting and hollering as they threw more and more bricks at Crash. There were only four of them present, so I was hoping we could outdo them with the element of surprise. I stashed "Johnny" in my pocket and snuck over to their roof.

"Come on you fuck-wad!" one Orphan yelled.

"Bet ya' can't dodge this!" another threw a brick at Crash.

"Look at him run, man! Ha ha!"

"This is target practice!"

"Wait, I almost got him!"

"Why doesn't he go inside?"

We were now a few feet behind the Orphans. I contemplated the fact that somebody was about to fall off this building. It was about a 300-foot drop and seemed rather deadly. Almost made me sick just thinking about it.

"One..." I whispered to Rembrandt, "Two... three!"

We jumped behind two of the Orphans and delivered push kicks capable of throwing them off the edge they were so close to. Sure enough, they both went sailing over the side and we could hear their fruitless screams before they eventually came to an end. The other two were frightened to say the least and made a run for it. But since we blocked the fire escape, they would have to go through us first. I grabbed one by the scruff of his shirt and elbowed him overhead to the ground. He moaned in pain and tried to rise quickly, but was stopped as I kicked his head back down. He held the top of his head in pain and let out a tortured cry. I then picked him up by the back of his shirt and allowed him to get on his feet. But just as he stood, I clobbered him again, this time with one of the nearby bricks and broke some of it off in the process. He then fell down and stayed down. Beside me, Rembrandt was able to toss the other Orphan onto the fire escape. His neck crashed on one of the railings and he fell down to the metal platform. He was not moving at all, so we let him be.

"Had enough yet?" I asked Rembrandt.

"Not yet, man," he smiled.

"Hey Crash!" I hollered to our fellow Warrior below, "Come on up here, man!"

He waved to us and made his way to the other side of the building to get to the ladder. I was a little out of breath and stared out at the rest of Coney. It was then I realized that there were several more nest of Orphans on the roofs above our stores. Although I felt in no condition to do so, I figured we had to jump rooftops to get to the rest before the Orphans cheated their way to victory. But upon one quick glance at the street from the top of the building, I became a little woozy and cautious about even considering a risky jumping across the roofs. Crash caught up to us and was sweating rather profusely. Luckily for him, he was completely unscratched, despite the violent bombardment he had to avoid.

"So what now, man?" Crash asked.

"We take down the rest of these fuckers," I said, pointing at a group of Orphans tossing bricks at the meat shop. "Come on!" I took a deep breath and jumped off the roof toward the next building, which was approximately six feet away. I landed on the adjacent ledge with a tingle in my leg and pounding in my heart.

"You're crazy man!" Crash exclaimed.

Unfortunately for him, Rembrandt silently complied with me and leaped across the gap. Crash's face grew whiter, and he gave a running start before throwing himself in our direction. He landed awkwardly and fell on his front side.

"Nice one," I laughed.

"Shit..." he groaned.

We continued to traverse rooftops until we reached the one the Orphans were attacking from. They had been performing the same routine we had seen before, except that they had pinned down Cowboy, Cochise and Leos in the meat market. There were four of them against three of us. Again, the element of surprise would be on our side.

I charged at one Orphan from behind and jumped on his back. This was my first mistake, as he began to flail about dangerously close to the edge. My arms locked around his neck and right arm, and I was able to subdue him. He fell forward onto a brick he was preparing to throw. But I had no time to finish him, as another Orphan swung at me with his brick. I dodged the first attack and countered the second with another grab to the arm. This time I got all limb and whipped the Orphan off the building. Rembrandt and Crash opted to work together to take down the other standing Orphans. They executed a nearly perfect "Coney Special", which was one of the most popular attacks among the Warriors in situations where we are dense in numbers. It consisted of Rembrandt kneeing the Orphan in the gut and then allowing Crash to put him (Rembrandt) into a full nelson. From here, Rembrandt would allow Crash to hold his body in the air as he delivers a double leg strike to the Orphans lowered head. With a loud smack, the Orphan was down for the count. The final Orphan ran for a nearby fire escape, but once again, he was blocked off; this time, by me. I gave him a classic punch in the face, my knuckles scraping against his left, lower jaw with a nauseating clicking sound. He staggered, but fought back with an unpredicted kick to my back. It slapped the flesh around my spine, but was only a stinging sensation. He then tried to match my punch to the face with his own, but was stopped with a grab to his hand. I then quickly spun his arm in a circular motion while twisting his wrist. The torque was enough to make him flip over onto his back. He gasped on impact before letting out a long sigh of pain. Crash approached with a brick in his hand and placed it on the Orphan's forehead. He could only watch as Crash jumped up and stomped on that very brick, shattering it, and most likely the Orphan's skull in the process. The final, unfinished Orphan I had attacked first was laying there with his eyes open, watching us fight. When he saw that I saw him, he tried snapping his eyes shut. But he was fooling nobody with this. I grabbed his arms, and Rembrandt and Crash grabbed squirming legs. We hoisted him up and tossed him off the edge. We heard his body hit ground with a thump and a silence.

"Nice going boys!" Cowboy yelled up to us, "They had us pinned down!"

"They got more on the roofs!" I hollered back, "Let's give 'em a hand at the plumbin' store!"

With a nod, they took off below while we trotted on across the buildings. Sure enough, there was another group of Orphans atop a building right above the plumbing store. Outside it, we could see Swan and Vermin dodging the attacks and doing their best to return fire. The next group of Orphans were much too far away to jump to, so we had to come up with another plan. Crash suggested we go back and grab some bricks. It may give our positions, but at least it would be harder to hit us than hit the warchief.

We jumped our way back and filled our arms full of bricks and bottles lying around the last nest. On my way back to our vantage point, I nearly tripped when we stopped near the edge. I dropped a brick or two over the edge, but did not allow myself to go over too. But as soon as those bricks hit the ground, one of the Orphans heard and looked in our direction. He then pointed to us and nudged another Orphan.

"They got us from behind!" he yelled, "Kill 'em!"

We had no choice but to defend ourselves. I let brick after brick fling from my hand. Over time, it began to cramp my arm and scrape my palms to the point where they were a reddish hue of white. On about my third bottle, I was able to make contact with an Orphan who was hit with the full body of the container. The glass shattered, and shards flew at the other Orphans, stunning them for a while. This must have angered one Orphan in particular because he was able to fling a brick at my right arm and hit me just below my shoulder. While the brick was spinning, it had enough energy to allow it to climb up my arm and smack me in the right ear. I grabbed my head in pain and felt a ringing sound in my eardrum. The shock of the hit fueled anger in me, but I had to get down and recuperate for a moment.

"You alright?" Rembrandt asked me, taking his eyes off the fight.

"I'm good, man," I still had my hand over my ear, "Just keep on hittin' 'em."

After what felt like two minutes, I emerged with a brick in my hand and was about to throw, but saw some familiar faces on the other side. Our attack diverted the Orphans' attention long enough for the Warriors on the ground to flank our enemy. I watched from a distance as Swan, Cowboy, Vermin, Cochise and Leos took down the Orphans together (and luckily there was one for each of them). They had taken the battle below the ledge, so I was unable to see too much of it, but I cheered when I saw one Orphan go flying over the side and into the street. The impact was chillingly loud as he fell flat on his back with blood pouring from behind his head.

Then we saw Swan and Cowboy pop up, and eventually, all the rest showed their faces over the ledge. I could just make out Swan motioning us to come down from the roofs. We followed willingly and found a fire escape to descend. After going down several flights, we climbed down the ladder and dropped to the streets (and I was more than relieved to be off the buildings). We then rendezvoused outside the plumbing store with the rest of the guys.

"We got one more spot," Swan said, "Let's see how Ajax is holdin' up,"

We took this command to heart and ran to "Voodoo Motors". Since the area is caged off, I was not surprised to see that the Orphans did not copy their previous tactics of throwing from a distance. Instead, they opted to just send in more men than before. By the time we arrived, Ajax and Snow had already dropped about six of them, with Dozer off in a corner. He was a little bloodied and bruised, but was still standing and held up a loan tire iron. There were about four more Orphans standing when we arrived, and they freaked out when they saw us block their only exit.

"Scatter!" one of them shrieked and they all took off for random sections of the fence in an attempt to escape. But Ajax would not allow this to happen, and neither would we. We all seized a part of the fence with an Orphan above it and shook the metal madly. I heard the first one drop, and then another landed on a nearby car, shattering the windshield. Pete was heard groaning at the damage, but soon stopped as the Orphan I was shaking down fell to the dirty ground. He moaned on the ground and I went to Dozer. I convinced him to surrender the tire iron, and I went to work on the now downed Orphan. When he began to rise, I cracked him one in the spine. He arched violently and I swung again, this time at his face. He fell straight down onto and winced at the pain of landing on his bruised back. Ajax and Snow were seen dragging two more Orphans out of the lot and onto the street where they mercilessly kicked and stomped the injured Orphans until their bloody bodies appeared completely lifeless. Meanwhile, Swan swatted the hand of the last Orphan away before delivering a double fisted pounding to his attacker's side. He gave him another good hit and caused him to hunch over as the wind was knocked out of him twice in a row. Then he swung a final time, but this one was upwards and across the face. The Orphan spun in the air upon impact and landed on this face near one of the cars.

"Nice work guys," Swan congratulated us.

"It was a piece a' cake, man," Ajax boasted, "I hope they got more!"

"I don't," Snow said as he rubbed his shoulder and sighed, "Let's just get the fuck back, man."

"Sounds good to me," Cowboy smiled.

We all headed back to the hangout, exhausted and bruised. But it was still better than beaten and lifeless, like some of these guys. Crash, Leos, Dozer, Bobby and some other young bloods that eventually showed their faces were charged with dragging the Orphans out of Voodoo Motors. It was kind of nice to know that I had come so far in such little amount of time. It almost made me wonder why. But I live to be incredulous sometimes, and find that it is better not to over think things. In any case, we survived and showed that we can still throw down when the time is right. Even if the enemy likes to cheat, we would still show them who runs these parts without hesitation.

Suddenly, right before we reached the first intersection, I heard Crash yell for us to get out of the way. This was followed by a blaring horn. I heard the loud noise fill the otherwise silent night and started to panic, not knowing if it was from my left or right. Swan pushed me aside as a yellow compact car sped by me. He had just saved my life.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, "What the hell was that?"

The other Warriors conversed uneasily as we saw the car's window roll down. Inside, there were about three Orphans. The one in the driver's seat was rather large for a bopper and had a medium sized afro, about the size of Rembrandt's.

"You Warriors are dead!" he yelled with a tone of hatred.

"And who the fuck are you?" Swan asked calmly.

"I'm Jesse!" he exclaimed (and he said it in a way that made one wish he had a more sinister name for the tone), "And Sully's got me in charge now!"

"Why'd you guys attack us?"

"You know what you did Warriors! We _will_ get our revenge assholes!"

"Why didn't you guys wait until the big fight?"

"'Cause we know you dudes are weak! We already had to wreck you once!"

Swan rubbed his head and sighed.

"Now it's time to die Warriors!"

He revved the engine and rolled up the window. Swan motioned for us to spread out. As long as this dude was on the streets, he was a danger to all of us. We had to take him out, even if they were down to their last three guys.

"Get around that car Warriors!" he commanded, "Then stand your ground! He can't hit all of us!"

We followed his command and surrounded the vehicle. Swan took the role of standing directly in front of the car.

"Make your move prick..." he squinted his eyes at Jesse through the glass.

I looked to Snow for advice, "What the fuck is Swan thinking?"

"You ever seen a bull fight, man?" Snow asked me. It started to make sense.

The car sped toward Swan, but he rolled out of the way and the vehicle stopped violently with a screech. It turned around quickly and took off for Ajax. He threw them a middle finger for about half a second longer than I would feel safe with. He still managed to jump aside and the car scraped against the side of a building. Sparks flew and metal began to clink upon the dark streets (I had to figure it was about 3:00 AM at this point). He blared the horn again and revved the engine. The tires squealed toward Cochise and the smell of burning rubber began to fill my nose. The Orphans fell pray to the trap one more time and crashed violently into a telephone pole. The impact made a huge concave area in the left front part of the car. The telephone pole wobbled a little on impact, but stayed firmly planted in the car's engine. I saw that none of the Orphans inside were moving. That was enough to do it. The Orphans were done for good!

"Nice work partner!" Cowboy called out to Cochise.

"Thanks man!" he smiled and busted a quick move, "I'm just crazy like that!"

We all watched Cochise bust more moves and laughed. He was way better than I ever could imagine myself being. It was also quite impressive that he could do this, even after barely being able to walk a few nights ago. We were so amused that nobody noticed that the Orphan's car was still moving. I could see Jesse's bloody face through the window as his hands rested back on the wheel. He threw the car in reverse, but must have exhausted the already damaged engine because his compact only slowly rolled away from the pole it tried so hard to get out of. But my main concern suddenly was not the car, but the pole. When the car pulled out, the structure began to crack and the wires became taught. Then the wires snapped and the heavy pole fell over. For a while, I thought it would hit the car, but because the wires offered resistance before breaking, it was deflected to the side and land directly on Cochise.

"Shit!" I heard myself yelling, but almost every other Warrior must have exclaimed it as well.

"Cochise!" Snow yelled (louder than I had ever heard him yell).

"Somebody get that piece of shit offa' him!" Cowboy ordered.

We ran over and worked together to undo the pole from its foundation and get it off of our fellow Warrior. But when it was finally off, we were met with a grim sight. Cochise's dead body had blood pouring from his front side, which looked more like a valley. His face looked wrinkled when it was crushed and his eyelids were clenched shut, almost like he was crying. He had teeth missing from his mouth and his broken bones had penetrated parts of his skin. At least he had died doing what he loved to do (if that was any consolation at all).

"Fuckers!" Snow rose to his feet in anger, "Motherfuckers!" Snow followed the very slow car as it tried to escape, but he broke the window with his bare hand and grabbed Jesse off of the steering wheel. With the reduced transmission, the car stopped when Jesse let his foot off the accelerator. Snow looked so scary, that I almost felt sorry for the Orphans. He quickly snapped off the driver's side door handle on both the inside and outside of the car. He swung the metal handle from the outside across Jesse's already bloody face and assumedly knocked him out (although he was already too weak from the crash to fight back). He chucked the handle at Jesse and went around the car to the fuel tank. I suddenly realized what he was doing and could only watch.

"Motherfuckers killed Cochise..." he murmured to himself in a trance. He then lit a match in his pocket and tossed it directly into the tank. He ran from the car to us and we all watched as the car began to grow embers and inevitably explode. The sound of the explosion was certainly more than enough to alert any police within, perhaps, a hundred miles. The inferno was an awesome sight and it was a beautiful thing to watch burn. Even though it symbolized hatred, death and irrational thought, it was, for some reason, the most tranquil thing we had seen all night. Swan put his hand on Snow's back to try to comfort him in his rage. Not surprisingly, Snow swatted him away, but Swan seemed to understand. Meanwhile, Ajax returned with a trash bag he acquired from Pete.

"Let's just put Cochise in here," he stretched the bag out to draw attention to it.

"What's wrong with you, man?" Snow asked, still in shock from the incident.

"Hey, you got a better idea?" Ajax said coldly.

"Fine..." Snow hung his head low and Ajax went to wrap the bloody body. He and Vermin were the ones who carried our fallen Warrior back to the hangout. We would hopefully bury him the next night. I could remember it being a particularly warm night that night, even without the huge fire blazing.

We all followed the dead body to the hangout and lowered our heads. Even though it was a huge success for us, we all still felt like things could not have gone worse. I was very sore from the night and just wanted to go home. It was then that I saw a figure looking in my direction from an alley several yards to my left. He was only a silhouette, but I could still make out that he was wearing a fine top hat. Yet, I did not feel like paying him mind. Instead, I walked back to "The Little Buddha" and returned "Johnny" to Twiggy. He was already passed out, so I just left it on the counter. Then I heard the sirens blare, and hid in some shadows. For the rest of the night, I could not help but think Cochise's death was all my fault.


	11. Stand Our Ground

Chapter 11: "Stand our Ground"

11:12 PM

June 10, 1980

Waves slowly crashed on the cold New York beach as I looked out at the sea. The shimmering reflection of the twilight half moon hurt my eyes with saltwater mists, but I did not mind. My hands were folded into each other, with my fingers laced and my left thumb resting on the other, downward at the same level as my hips. I stood tall and continued to stare out while Snow and Cowboy walked by with a red sheet that housed the garbage bag Cochise's body laid in. They lowered it into the cold sandy hole we had dug earlier that night. Cowboy seemed both physically and emotionally stressed by the task, while Snow just frowned when looking down at his friend's remains. When Cochise was completely in the hole, Cowboy tossed in his lucky headband, while Snow dropped in a very large purple "pimp hat". Ajax then began burying Cochise and his trophies with a shovel we had stolen from the other night and slammed the flat head into the ground when he was done. Swan had been standing about seven feet to my right and was ready to begin the ceremony.

"Warriors," he announced in a smooth, melancholy way, "We're all here to pay respect to Cochise, and his death for his gang."

There were several heads that looked up as he spoke. Cowboy and Snow stepped over to either side of Swan.

"I've known Cochise for a while now," Swan continued, "I remember when he was a headstrong little bopper in Harlem. He ended up proving all of us wrong when he snagged that huge hat off the Boppers," he pointed to the grave sight, "Well, I'm gonna' miss you, man," Swan, not being one for strong emotions, cut the speech short and stepped back so that Snow could take the spotlight.

"Cochise, man," he began, "I don't know what to say. He grooved with the best, threw down like a mean motherfucka', and knew his way around this city from Coney to the Bronx. Didn't want him to leave like this, man. It's just too soon... I still remember the first night he got his colors," he looked at the grave and raised his fist to his head, "You're like a brother to me, man."

Snow could say no more, and let those last fleeting words be his tribute to his buddy. Cowboy was next, and he was already looking very depressed.

"I gotta' tell ya', Cochise knew how to have fun in this town," he said, "Disco techs, strip joints, pizza places... Cochise kept me up to date on all of 'em. And man that guy could dance. As a white boy, it scares the shit outta' me when he takes to the floor," this comment was met with some laughs, "Ever since he joined, we were good buddies. Never thought I'd outlive that crazy bastard," Cowboy turned to the grave and tipped his hat, "See ya' when I see ya' partner."

Cowboy stepped away, still depressed, but looking more relieved now that his speech was over. When he was done, I reached into my pocket and fished out two fuzzy pigeon feathers. I let them out of my hand, and the wind took them deep into the ocean, until the pier ended. They actually seemed to float away like birds. I had never thought that we would have to have this funeral for Cochise the same day he died. But lately, shit was happening too fast for my liking.

Behind me, Rembrandt had been spray-painting a large red bomber that read "Warriors" in shaky red letters on the wooden wall that held the pier up. All the while, Vermin took out a knife and began carving names into the hard surface. They read:

Cleon 

_Fox_

_Ash_

_Tinman_

_Hank_

_Rex_

_Joey_

_Jerm_

Lenney 

_Cody_

_Cochise_

I watched the carving continue for a few minutes. Meanwhile, Cowboy had broken out his acoustic guitar and started strumming a familiar tune. I recognized it almost immediately as "Tuesday's Gone" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was surprising to hear a southern song around these parts, but I did not mind. Even though it was not a song about death, it fit just fine with the mood. Cowboy's singing voice was also surprisingly good. I let myself go to the twang of the melody and the sad tone of his song. He even improvised a short solo in the middle.

When he finally finished, Vermin's job was done as well. The song nearly brought me to tears, but I sucked it up in a hurry. It was that night of agitating the Orphans that seemed to start this horrible domino effect. Who knows if that makes me responsible? In any case, I could have been feeling better. We then walked back to the hangout for what I predicted to be another silent night.

12:05 AM

June 11, 1980

14 days until the fight...

The silence was becoming a close friend to me. It made me feel comfortable, but at the same time made a small bit of me tense. I suppose it was silence that tried to mask the seemingly inevitable fate we were likely to be delivered to. It seems to compliment death so perfectly that it froze the limbs, and deafened the ears, until all one can hear is the crash of waves on the cold sands. Even the radio was down far lower than usual. It also did not help that Cowboy had neglected to go on a beer run that night. But nobody could truly blame him. It was a sad time for all of us.

But I began to think about what a sad time it must have been for the Orphans as well. If I had lost one fellow Warrior that was barely a friend to me and felt this much pain, how could I even fathom the hurt that fell on the shoulders of those Orphans that could still crawl back home, only to see everything they worked for gone. Obviously, sympathy cannot be a factor when one is a bopper, but as a human, it was a hard thing to avoid. Even more painful was the guilt of death unto my fellow man. To think a life could be taken for such fruitless purposes was what made me snap my eyes shut and hold back as much emotion as I could. The only penalty I deserved was silence.

The faint sounds of the radio also soon fell silent, and it was the nightly indication that the DJ was about to speak. Snow, who had been sitting close by it, must have felt the silence was too long (or perhaps was just curious) and turned the dial up.

"Attention boppers," the DJ signed on, "This is a special announcement for all you boys in the hood who get down with the throw down. I would first like to thank the Orphans for finally showing some guts and actually bringing the heat back to the big city. Unfortunately, you don't go flexin' in a Warrior's domain without payin' the price. Needless to say babies, the Coney crew made short work of those headstrong punks. It's too bad they had to throw their gang away for a shot in the dark. At least _they_ don't have to clean up the mess downtown. Once again, I must send a special warning to the Grudge, 'cause the Warriors ain't licked until it's all over. Maybe the Panzers, Rangers and Saracens could find a place back on board with the champions. That's all for now boppers. Keep the tunes alive."

She signed off and played, "11:59" by _Blondie_. I looked over at the clock and thought it would have been cool if it really was "11:59". Unfortunately, it was 12:10 by then. Snow turned the radio back down, since it was breaking the mood, and Swan had picked this time to stand up and speak to us.

"Hey guys, listen up," he barely even needed to raise his voice over the mute hangout, "I know these are tough times for all of us, but we gotta' learn to pull through. I need you guys out there training and recruiting, 'cause the clock is ticking. Those dudes want us dead like Cochise, and they want it for every last one of us. They want a fight, and they're gonna' get one. We built this gang on the ground they wanna' wreck us on. Don't ya' think that's worth defending Coney for?"

The Warriors were reenergized by his totally obvious setup expressions. But either way, I joined in the cheer. I figured there was no point in holding a grudge with Swan if we have a much bigger (and literal) one to deal with now.

"I also wanted to announce that because the big fight is on its way, we need a new lieutenant. If any of you young bloods think you have what it takes, you best prove yourself out there."

After the last din of cheers, I looked to Snow and signaled him over to the punching bag. I was glad to see he remembered where we left off before the attack. We descended the stairs and went to work. I was the first to hold the bag.

"You gonna' be alright, man?" I asked Snow.

"Huh?" he looked up to me in the middle of a kick, "Yeah, I'll be fine, man. Just so surreal, ya' know?"

"Yeah, I know how ya' feel."

"This is some crazy shit they're throwin' at us."

"It's what we train for, man."

"But not all this man," he held his arm out toward the main floor.

"Hey, it doesn't matter how many boys we got. It matters how good we can bop. With the right strategy, we could wreck those toys."

Snow just let out a sigh and struck the bag again, "It's a buncha' bullshit man…" he muttered to himself.

After about five minutes, Crash showed up behind Snow.

"What's up, man?" I nodded to the young blood.

"Nothin', just lookin' for some advice," he said looking out at the door.

"Advice?" I reiterated in an intrigued manner.

"Yeah, man," he still refused to meet my eyes, "I mean, I know you rose up the ranks pretty fast around here. And, ya' know, now that I got this opportunity to prove myself, I wanna', ya know, show Swan I got what it takes. So what do I do to get respect around here?"

Crash was a very large man, and probably the biggest guy on in our set. He had medium length black hair and a skin tone slightly paler than mine (I guess he was Italian). His voice was deep, but packed certain gentleness when issued toward a fellow member. He had huge muscles under his faded green t-shirt and gray jeans. I was surprised they could find a vest big enough for him. To my recollection, he joined the Warriors about a month after me.

"Well I gotta' tell ya'," I looked him in the face and raised my index finger, "Most of that shit I pulled was luck. And I had to put up with a lot of bullshit to get up. But I'll tell ya' something; it ain't gonna' be too hard to get respect at this point. I'll bet if you volunteered to do some of the dirty work around here, Swan'd promote you. I guess what I'm sayin' is, you gotta' show 'em you're worth holdin' onto."

I was surprised I was able to give even that much advice off the top of my head. I just kind of ran with it. But what surprised me more was that there was a solider who not only wanted to join this suicidal cause, but take his hand in leading it. If that is not worth a promotion, it is definitely worth pity.

"Well, thanks I guess," Crash rubbed the back of his head, possibly not sure that I told him anything he did not already know.

"I wouldn't recommend talkin' to him in person, man," Snow added, "But I'll put in a good word. I seen ya' round; throwin' down. Ya' know how to brawl."

"Thanks, man," Crash nodded in his deep voice.

I looked up at Swan, who was leaned up against the railing with his arms crossed. He was silent and alone. I decided I needed to speak with him about something other than rank.

"Yo, Crash," I turned to him, "Why don't ya' train with Snow for a while. I gotta' go take care a' somethin'."

He nodded and I worked my way back up the stairs. As I approached Swan, he began to talk without looking at me.

"She got her shit back," he said, staring off at the far wall, "Swung by the other night. Didn't say nothin'."

I was amazed that he knew what I was about to ask him.

"Turk," he turned and looked me in the eye, "How well do you know Mercy?"

"Well..." I had to think quick on this question, not just because it was incriminating, but also because I might have given something away in my secrecy, "Me and Mercy... we used to go out," I opted to tell him some of the truth if anything, "So she knows me because of that," I felt my face grow hot and sweat formed on my forehead.

"Really?" Swan asked after a pause, "She went out with _you_?"

"Come on, man," I protested, a little annoyed at the understatement of me.

"Sorry," he replied, "It's just… she never told me about you."

"Go ahead and ask."

"No thanks, man," he smiled a little, "So do you still feel that way about her?"

I actually asked myself that question in that moment. It surprised me how much I had to think about it. She seemed to fix up my dull, lonely life when it really needed mending, but at the same time, faked it and almost got us killed. With that being my last thought, I answered, "Hell no, man"

Swan turned his head foreword, facing the wall again, "Then why you askin' me about her?"

This made me wonder how I always get dooped into these sorts of questions. I looked for a quick exit out.

"I didn't ask you anything," I claimed.

"Come on, man," he looked back at me, "What aren't you tellin' me?"

"Ok, since you probably won't give a shit anyway. The other night when we went to Tremont, I had to rough her up a bit to get her offa' me, ya know? Crazy bitch came at me when I beat down Sully."

"Wait," Swan took more interest than I had hoped, "What was Sully doin' there?"

"It's his turf, man."

Swan let out a sigh of annoyance.

"Anyway," I continued, "I felt kinda' bad, so I just wanted to make sure I didn't do too much to her. Believe me, I don't hit chicks."

"Man, if I knew you were smackin' around my girl, I'd kick your ass. But you were just doin' your thing, and I know you've had enough of my crazy bullshit. She just drives me nuts sometimes. Now... I just want her outta' my head."

I could relate, but did not say so, "Swan, why ya' tellin' all this to me anyway?"

"Sorry, man," Swan shook his head slowly, "Just leave me alone for a while, will ya'?"

"Sure thing warchief," I told him, and made my leave.

I decided not to go back to Snow and Crash, since I would just get in the way. Instead, I looked to help somebody else with this rough day.

"Hey, man," Cowboy looked up at me from the pinball game he was in the middle of, "You want the next game?"

"Nah," I shook my head, "Let's just talk for a while."

"Umm... okay," he said (maybe I made it sound a little weird).

"No, it's just that I wanted to ask where you learned to play like that."

"Oh," he smiled and let the ball slide by as he turned to me, "Kentucky. My sweet home down south. Back in my day, you were either a _Skynyrd_ fan, or you just pretended to be one. My old man used to play, so I learned pretty early."

"That's cool, man. Always wanted to learn how to play."

"Tell ya what, partner. Me and you make it to July, I'll have ya' playin' better than me by the forth."

I laughed a little at the comment, regardless of how grim it sounded. We continued the rest of the night talking about music and our backgrounds, even though I doubt either of us would end up taking it to heart. We even made a beer run later that night for the rest of the guys' sakes. All in all, it turned out to be an okay night in the end. Or at least until the clock struck 3:30

"Attention citizens of New York City!" the radio blared a man's voice, "Attention all citizens! This is Detective Harrison of the New York Police Department. This is an alert to all citizens. The Mayor has declared a state of emergency for all of Manhattan, due to the recent spike in gang warfare over the past month. This means that a nine 'o clock curfew will be issued for all citizens until further notice. Anybody found on the streets after this time will be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This is a very serious matter, and cannot be dealt with lightly. Again, this is a state of emergency and all citizens from here on must be in their homes by 9 PM, or they will be considered a contributing source of the recent gang warfare and be persecuted. Please standby for more information. This bulletin will be repeated every half hour until further notice. That is all."

Several of the Warriors moved in closer to the radio to make sure they heard the message correctly, while some asked if it was true. But I understood what I heard and was rather disheartened to hear it.

"That's bullshit man!" Cowboy complained angrily, "How the fuck are we supposed to get around now?"

"I don't know, dude," I shook my head, "But I hope they ain't too serious about this."

11:59 PM

June 23, 1980

2 days before the fight...

"This is it boppers," the DJ signed on, "The last lonely night of preparations. While some gangs have gone, others have stayed. But one gang will never back down from a challenge, even if they got a buncha' boys to bop with. Here's the sum total: in the north corner, we've got the Colt 45s, the Stonebreakers, the Turnbulls, the Satan's Mothers, the Hurricanes, the Black Hands, the Jesters, the Eliminators, the Furies, the Punks and of course, the Hi-Hats. I guess you boys couldn't hold on to everybody. And in the south corner, we got the clique that's already painted this town red, the Coney Island Warriors. I don't know why the Grudge wants them down and out, but it sure is exciting. But don't we all hate Mondays anyway? Well lay low all you boppers on the sideline, because this will be quite a match. I suggest you take some shelter babies, 'cause the storm has just begun. Good luck boppers!"

She signed off and played "Gimme' Shelter" by _The Rolling Stones_ (I guess she was a personal fan of them). I lost myself to the psychedelic tune for a while and stared out at the night's sky.

The past two weeks were a little boring, but not completely uneventful. The curfew put a damper on things, but we were careful and did not get ourselves busted. We were all pretty good at sneaking around and getting to the hangout on time (except for Rembrandt, who was still coming in late). Training was a constant effort. For the most part, it was indoor training, but that was difficult since we had to break up our patrol just in case something went wrong, while the other Warrior youngbloods crowded the hangout. Cowboy had been taking a few hours every day or so to explain a rather ingenious plan to taking down a good deal of enemy troops. It actually started to offer me a peace of mind I had not had in a while. But despite everybody's outlook, I knew deep down we were all very scared and wanted nothing more than to see the end of this all. Honestly, I was more beginning to feel my blood boil. It was those guys that caused us so much pain, so if any anger and fear must be displaced, it should be toward them. Finally, I was happy to announce that Crash was able to climb the ranks and make it to lieutenant for his stalwart ability to recruit new members. He even recruited during the day by making "business cards". Swan later said that he definitely deserved it. Now we seem to hang out more often than we did before. He is good company if you get used to him.

After the song and another drink, Snow and I trained on the punching bag, as we were on the frontlines for tomorrow night. The hangout was not as crowded as it normally was, since many of the Warriors got a personal night off due to the fact that they would not likely live through the rest of this week. But my personal life was so much worse than being with the Warriors, so it was no surprise that this was the place for me.

About ten minutes of training passed before Snow stopped his attacks and looked at me.

"Yo, Turk," he said, "You wanna' spar, man?"

This was a dream come true for me. Ever since I first started training with him, I had wanted to face him head to head. Every time I had asked him before, he said I was not ready and would get my ass beaten if I tried. There was, of course, only one answer for him.

"Hell yeah man," I responded in reserved excitement, "Let's do this."

He nodded, and we stepped outside. The night was brisk and the streetlights set a perfect arena for us to fight in. We removed our vests (as was customary, since nobody should ever fight someone wearing the same colors, even in initiations) and bowed to one another.

"You ready _youngblood_?" Snow joked with me.

"Oh, you're goin' down man!" I smiled and positioned myself in a fighting stance.

We circled around one another for a few seconds, and I realized that he was waiting for me to strike. Without hesitation, I ran in with a flying kick, but he stepped aside and performed a windmill punch to my gut. I hunched sideways, but grabbed his hand and jumped onto his leg before pushing off and landing with a roll. This time, he ran at me and attempted to tackle my mid section, but I ducked and caught his body on my shoulder. He was quite heavy, so I was only able to toss him over my side. I had to turn quickly, as he sprung right back to his feet and delivered a knee to my chest. He then spun to knock me down with a back kick, but I blocked the attack. Unfortunately, I was only able to stay on my feet instead of delivering a counter attack. He then advanced once again with a one-two punch to my face. I avoided both attacks, but did not see the roundhouse kick to my head until it was too late. I went flying to the ground and rolled back to my feet. I felt blood seep from my lower lip, but it affected me very little.

"Where's the challenge, man?" Snow smiled, "You wanna' get wrecked out there?"

"Keep talkin' Snowball," I said, using his "proper" name.

I charged again and let out a battle cry while jumping into the air. Snow tried blocking, but was surprised to see that I did not attack. Instead, I used the momentum of the drop to spin and sweep his legs in one quick motion. He fell to his knees, but tried to spring back up. As he did, I met him with a karate chop over the head. It was too bad his hair absorbed most of the blow, but he fell back down nevertheless. I tried to hit him while he was down, or at least hold him under my foot until he surrendered, but he squirmed away and yanked my feet hard from under me. I fell forward hard and landed on my chest. Without missing a beat, Snow got me in a toehold that was unbelievably painful.

"Ahhh, shit!" I exclaimed in pain, "Enough man! Cut that shit!"

He did as I said and let me go, laughing rather evilly.

"Damn, man," he smiled as I rose to my now sore feet, "I thought you'd be more of a challenge."

"So did I," I gasped for air.

"Hey Bruce Lee!" came an annoying voice from afar, "Can ya' teach _me_, those moves?"

"Yeah, you guys are regular kung fu masters!" came another heckling voice.

We looked to see two white guys in leather jackets standing near a streetlight smoking cigarettes. They were a few yards from us at that point.

"Hey faggots!" said the first man, "I asked you guys a question."

"Fuck off, man!" I yelled at them.

"Oh!" the first heckler exclaimed, "Look who learned to talk smack. Come on. Teach me to do that move on the ground. I bet it gets you off, man."

"'Ey! Roll outta' here bra!" Snow snapped at him.

"Yo Roamer!" the first heckler turned to his buddy, "Hit me with your best shot."

The second guy waved his arms in a mock martial arts manner and performed a slow motion karate chop to the first guy with a highly overplayed battle cry.

"Oh my god!" the first heckler said sarcastically, "He's using _fag-fu_ on me! Come on guys, show him how it's done! Maybe you should _both_ take your shirts off first!"

"I got a better idea," I responded and picked up my vest. Then Snow and I dawned our colors.

"Shit," he whispered, but followed with a shout, "Holy shit! Roamer, these dudes is Warriors! You dudes is crazy man!"

"You wanna' stick around to find out?" I replied in a hopefully menacing manner.

"That's okay Warriors," Roamer stepped back slowly, "We was just leavin'."

"Oh don't go," I heckled them back, "I thought you guys wanted to throw down."

"Yeah, man," Snow approached them, "Let's give 'em some _fag-fu_. The might even enjoy it."

"Stay the fuck away, asshole!" the first heckler was starting to freak out.

"Or what?" I asked, "You got a clique to back you toys up?"

"Roamer!" he turned to his buddy, "Let's get the fuck outta' here, man!"

They bolted for an alley, but we let them go. After they left, Snow and me laughed hard and slapped five.

"What a buncha' fucked up honkies, man," Snow chuckled.

"That's you brain on flash, ya know?" I said.

"Man, that's enough trainin' for me. Hey Turk, some of the guys are headin' up to 'The Black Cat' tonight. You in?"

"Nah man. I'll catch up with you guys later. Got some shit to take care of first."

"A'ight, but don't come cryin' to me when there ain't any good wool uptown."

"I'll live. Catch ya' later Snow."

He waved goodbye, and headed back to the hangout. I was then alone, and preferred it for the time being. I needed to get some stuff worked out in my head.

The night was cool, and the wind howled smoothly as I walked over to the beach. I took off my socks and shoes (not in that order) and held them in my hand while walking slowly across the sand. It was gritty and cold, but felt sort of nice after so much walking. Unfortunately, it was not a particularly starry night, so I had little to look at, aside from the gleaming half moon on the horizon. I dropped my socks and shoes on the sand and walked into the water. It was freezing, and the back and forth motion brought the water deeper than I had anticipated. My pant legs were slightly soaked as the tide began to come in more. Even though I felt some pricking pain from small rocks and shells on the bottom, I kept walking, as the cold water felt terrific on the bottom of my feet anyway. There was a ship passing by, and I watched it slowly sail by. The red lights and port fog lamps gave it a speckled silhouette. I then turned around and waded to the shore. I regretted taking off my socks and shoes in the first place, as the sand from the beach stuck affectionately to my feet. I just did my best to sweep it off and put on my footwear when it felt comfortable enough to wear.

I strolled down the beach to the pier where we had buried Cochise. There were already flies around the site, so I fruitlessly attempted to shoo them away. But they predictably flew back on the sand, so I just left it be. They were not really that irritating, aside from the buzzing. I then turned to the wall where Rembrandt's burner had dried nicely. My eyes rolled across the names carved into the wood, and I could not help but put my hand on Rex's. I closed my eyes, and was met with a sudden stabbing pain of discontent. It was like all my fears and all my hatred exploded within me, and the pain was indescribable.

"God dammit!" I shrieked to the sky, "God fucking dammit! You clown mother fuckers are gonna' kill us all! You're gonna' wreck everything we worked for! Why? Why do you fuckers hate us? Well fuck you! I said FUCK YOU HI-HATS!"

My mindless screaming was cut off as hands grabbed around my chin from behind and began to jerk my head laterally. I felt horrible strain on my neck and screamed. After about the third twist, I grabbed the attacking hand and squeezed them violently. In my rage, I bit the right one until I could tear the flesh right off the bone. I spit out the bloody mass, and turned around to face the same Hi-Hat scout that had been giving me so much pain in the past.

"What do you fuckers want from us?" I questioned angrily.

He held his bleeding arm and gritted his teeth, "Payback!"

He rushed at me screaming and flailing his left arm, which was now holding a switchblade. It was quite possibly the scariest site I had seen in a long time. The bloody limb, the quick knife, the grody teeth gnashing, and the horrible yells from the not-so-silent mime. He pounced at me and dropped his hat, but I jumped back and allowed him to fall to the sand face first. I connected a kick with his head on the way down, and he yelled angrily. I was so frightened that I just kept kicking him all over. I hit his neck, his spine, his arms and legs, and anywhere that would keep him down. He screamed again and sprung to his feet. This time, his charge was just an unholy attack toward me. He was covered in blood, and had not seen enough of mine. He tackled me to the ground faster than I could blink and knocked the wind flat out of me. He held me down with his injured arm and used all the energy he had to keep me down as he raised his blade over my face. It was then his strength against mine to determine if I was finished off for good. He was smiling when he realized that he could overpower me with his adrenaline. In a last ditch effort of desperation, I took a big bite out of the sand beside me and spit it hard into the scout's eyes. He could not help but back off of me and hold his red, watery eyes. But I would give him no mercy in his condition. I rose up and punched him vigorously in the right eye. He lost his balance, but recovered just in time to feel a second punch to his left eye. I could see now that his eyes were turning beet red and began to bleed a little. I figured there was no use in letting him suffer much more and gave him a powerful side kick to the abdomen. He went flying to the water's edge and dropped his weapon. I snatched it up hastily, but saw he was knocked out anyway. It was no matter to me, as I used the blade to cut open his shirt and carve a "W" across his entire midsection. I then threw the blade into the water. In a final act of anger, I dragged the scout's body to the top of the pier and all the way to the end of the walkway. I then picked up the body and leaned it against a guardrail.

"See ya' in hell dickface," I muttered and pushed him over the side and into the sea below. His fall into the water was an uncontrollable belly flop with a large splash. He floated with his arms in weird positions. A wave hit him and turned him over to reveal that the makeup he wore was washing away. I looked at the face of the man I had killed and was shocked to notice that he looked a lot like Swan. I turned away quickly and let him be. I knew that by morning, the seagulls would have picked that body apart before the cops could even get their hands on it.

On the shore where the fight took place, I found his fallen hat and lit it aflame with one of my matches. I stood and watched it burn and enjoyed the short amount of heat it produced on such a chilly night. I turned to leave the beach, lest more of the freaks show up. As I did, there was a sharp pain in my neck, and I realized that it might have been a little over stressed by the surprise attack. I tried not to turn it too much, and walked back to the streets.

There was far too much on my mind, and the events of the night thus far were not clearing anything up. The simple fact was that the next night, we were going to have to fight and kill to stay alive. I knew this as a standard code for boppers, but it was far too literal and dangerous for my tastes. Out of fear that this would be my last night, I felt as though some loose ends needed to be tied. But surprisingly, they were not with the Warriors.

At the subway station, I was surprised to see that the trains were still running at this hour. I suppose the word had never gotten to the boys in the underground, but it was okay by me. But all was not well, for there were two guards by the turnstiles when I descended the stairs. It was not surprising to see them, since they probably need to make sure nobody tries to vandalize the place. I moved slowly and quietly and waited behind them for a train to arrive. I was willing to make a run for it at this point. If I could get to the Bronx, they could not follow me. Or at least they were not supposed to.

"Nah... I think it's just in a coma or something," I listened to the guard talking to the other.

"It's dead, and you know it," he responded.

"You're just saying that 'cause you can't dance."

"Neither can you."

"Shut up. Disco ain't dead!"

"Well the 70s are, so you gotta' face up."

"They're still making disco music, you know."

I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore their less than intuitive discussion. Luckily, the train had arrived, and it was my chance to take them off guard. I counted to ten after the doors opened, and hoped that I gave it enough time. I then hopped the turnstile, ran for the train, and squeezed the door shut behind me. I was quickly pursued, but my train car was already shut up, and by the time they decided to follow on another, the rest of the doors had shut as well. I was extremely lucky to have gotten out of that uncuffed. I only hoped they would not trace my location until I arrived at the next stop.

Twenty minutes passed and even though I had to duck out on some cops at times, I made it to my destination. It was about 1:50 AM when I stepped out to Tremont.

The streets were just as cold as they were down south, and I shivered again as I searched the streets for signs of life. It was difficult to believe that I came all this way and risked getting busted just for some advise from a likely biased person.

"What's wrong son?" Henry asked when I slipped him a bill, "Ya' look like ya' just seen a tragedy."

"Not quite man," I responded and rubbed the back of my neck, "Ya' see, I'm supposed to be in a big fight tomorrow night. Real heavy guys are boppin' from up north. And I just lost another buddy a few weeks ago."

"Well what did I tell ya' before, boy?" he asked and turned toward me (he had been sitting down on the sidewalk).

"I know what you're gonna' say, and yeah it's a thankless thing I'm in."

"So why do you ke-?"

"'Cause I'm all alone in this town!" I cut him off, yelling like last time.

"Well who the hell's fault do you think that is?"

"What? You want me to say it's my fault? I wanna' say it's God's fault all this shit happened to me! My parents disowned me, my sister won't talk to me, I can't keep a steady girlfriend, my friends are either dead or in this gang with me, and every day I just keep getting' older! Ya' know, I'm gonna' die one of these days too! Sometimes... I just feel like I wasted my life!"

"You've got no idea when life begins, do ya' boy?"

"Well I haven't really lived much yet. What makes you think shit's gonna' get better?"

"'Cause I can tell just by talkin' to ya' that you're tryin' to live life too fast for your own good. Some days, ya' gotta' be alone in the world before you get rewarded for your patience. Believe me, I know how the game works."

I looked him in the eye as he smiled, "So when's all this loneliness gonna' pay off for you?"

He laughed a little, "In time my boy. In time. Uncle Sam's gonna' pay me a whole lot some day down the road. I have been in two pretty big wars after all. And the way I see it, the longer I wait on that pay, the more I'll get."

"Why don't you just fix yourself up now?"

"I kinda' like it like this to be honest. Things are simple, and I can offer what I can in knowledge as long as I get some cash and some company. I spent some of what should have been the best years of my life in poverty and war anyways. By the time I got outta' all of it, I was too old to really start livin'. So I started a simpler life, and it's just fine with me."

"Damn, man. And I think I've wasted my life."

"But it ain't a life wasted if you ask me. I had some time in between to settle down and have some kids. But they're all grown up and are sick of seeing me leave them. Same with my wife, but that's a long story too. I did get to live, but I had to wait a while and take some risks while doin' it. You'll make it too, but ya' gotta' stay alive and keep your head in the game. Know who your friends are, and who'll keep you down. Know the one's you love and the ones you can trust, 'cause there are too many people out there that wanna' take it from you anyways."

I thought about his words. It was kind of upbeat to know that life did not have to be as bad as I made it out to be. But I had to make it out of this alive. Never was there anything I was more determined to do than that.

"Thanks, man," I shook his hand in a friendly manner, "Lemme' buy ya' a drink."

"I'm good, thanks Warrior," he grinned dirty teeth, "I just want ya' ta' know that it doesn't have to be a waste. Promise me somethin' Warrior."

"What's that?"

"Promise you'll come visit if ya' make it outta' this thing alive."

"You got it, buddy."

"You're a good kid."

I stopped at that comment. It was then that I remembered that I killed again in this night. Even if it was out of furious rage, it was a death nonetheless. I just shook my head a little, "Right," I replied.

I waved him goodbye and walked back toward the subway. I wondered if the advice I got was worth the risk of coming here in the first place. It was comforting to know that somebody else knew my pain and had to face the uncertainty of war. I would have given this more thought on my way back, but when a goddess looks at you, your mind clears.

Mercy had been in a phone booth, wrapping up a conversation with somebody when her eyes fixed on mine, and mine on hers. She said something into the phone and hung up (it looked like she said, "Talk to you later"). Then she walked out of the booth and continued to stare. We sort of circled around one another until we both stopped moving. It was then that I realized we were both about to do something. It was either engage, or flee. Neither seemed to want to flee, as it was against common thought, but both of us should have fled, for it was common sense. But since neither of us decided not to run away...

"I missed you kid," she had hugged me in a tight embrace, and I returned the favor.

"What the hell are we doing?" I asked with my arms around her.

"I don't know," she then dropped her face on my shoulder and softly pounded it, "What do you really want from me?"

I lifted her head and stared at her once again. I said nothing, but let a deep kiss do the talking. She received without qualms and I began to move my hand up her bellbottom jeans. We were two foolish people in the middle of a dangerous area who hated each other. But times like this made us do crazy things. I did not mind, and given the outcome of the rest of the night, neither did she.

1:24 PM

June 24, 1980

1 day before the fight...

That night, I dreamt of a ferocious fight. I was being held down by a half dozen hooded characters that beat me senseless after I had lost my balance. I remembered groaning and flailing, but to no success. Eventually, they let go of me and let me stand. But I felt all my limbs broken and succumbed to another vicious beating.

I awoke breathing hard and sweating a little. I was in a white queen-sized bed with a steel headboard that seemed to bend and shape in an odd fashion. I stopped to think about how many other guys had slept in this bed before I did. I saw Mercy walk into the room in nothing but a white tank top and underwear. She climbed over to my side of the bed.

"You alright hon'?" she asked with a slight tone of concern, "I heard ya' mumbling somethin'."

"I'm fine," I shook my head with my hand, "Thanks."

"Good, 'cause I got breakfast cookin'," she smiled.

"I don't think I'm really that hungry," I took my hand off my head.

"Well I am. Come and get some if you get there."

"Why did we do that?" I asked whispering.

"What's that?" she had stopped on her way out the door.

"Why did you sleep with me?"

"Calm down, Turk," she caressed my face with her smooth hand.

"But you tried to get us killed."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she crossed her arms.

"Don't gimme' that bullshit! You turned your back on Swan! So how do I know the same won't happen to me?"

"Turk," she called my name to sooth me, "You think too much about these things. Relax. Have a smoke. Ya' got a big night ahead of ya'."

"Mercy," I called her name to get her attension more clearly, "I just can't seem to deal with the fact that you're the best and worst thing to ever strut into my life."

She looked at me and smiled, "I don't really wanna' be any of those things kid. I just want you to relax and get ready for the fight."

"And how do _you _know about it?"

"You think you guys are the only ones who listen to the radio?"

"So it was just luck that all this shit happened last night?"

"Maybe, but I try to help if I can."

Somehow, I doubted this comment, but I decided that I did not want to get mad at her. Hospitality is hospitality, and in this case, it was quite fine.

"Well thanks for everything, but I gotta' go," I reached for my pants and got dressed.

"Hey Warrior," she tapped me on the shoulder on my way out the door. I turned, and she slipped a small piece of paper into my hand, "Look me up another time."

I smiled and gave her a kiss on the lips. She delivered a firm smack on my ass as I turned to leave and I just gave her a smile on my way out. Honestly, there was nothing to complain about in that moment. My loneliness was cured, at least for the time being. Now my only enemy was going to be the reality staring me in the face.

The streets were filled with people, so I took off my vest and carried it in a ball against my hip. I wanted to look tough, but I could not help but smile. I had a good night for the first time in a long time. I felt the definition of it change dramatically, and was sure to elevate the paradigm of what I once thought was fun. I made my way to the subway train and got on board. I sat by myself and tried as best as I could to ignore other people's conversations, and attempt to mentally stimulate myself for the upcoming confrontation. It was then that the horrors of last night also filled my head. Surely if somebody that bloodthirsty was a scout, the hardcore soldiers they decide to wheel out were going to be much more deadly. Such a rough reminder came when I felt the pain in my neck while turning to see which stop I got off at. But the Warriors needed me to bear as much pain as I could for the team. Otherwise, we might as well surrender. The very thought had never truly entered my head until I saw that Coney Island was the next stop. Sure it was the last stop, but I could just as easily remain in my seat and ride the train out to a new location. The thought was tempting as hell, but I had built a solid foundation and just because it was bundled up in my arm, it meant too much to throw away. It was, after all, my life.

I strolled over to my apartment and climbed the stairs to get to my place. I laid on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I would have to do some working out eventually, but for the time, I wanted to relax. An hour passed, and I rolled off the couch and into a pushup position on the floor. I worked out for a while and eventually took a shower. Then I changed, and flipped on the radio. It was 7:15 PM and the sun was setting. I only hoped I would get to see it again. I sat on the windowsill and stared out at the amusement park goers wrapping up their big days. It was Sunday, and entrance to Coney Island was free. I just lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the chilly breeze that flew across my face. The clouds in the sky looked like rain, but it was too soon to tell. When I was done smoking, I threw on my vest and stepped out of my place. I did not even bother locking the door.

Cutting through the crowds was a bit of a chore in itself, but I did so anyway. At least I was in no rush. I was, however, very hungry. Coney Island had the best hot dogs I ever tasted, so I grabbed two from a street vendor, as well as a bottle of water. I slipped him a $10 bill and let him keep the change. After a few splashes of catsup, I consumed, what some may consider, my last supper. The juicy hot dog tasted awesome with the tangy catsup and buttery toasted bun. By the time I reached the hangout, I was halfway through my second dog. I finished, wiped the grease on my jeans, and entered the building.

Everything looked pretty normal inside (except that Rembrandt had beat me there). Snow and Ajax were talking by the radio, Cowboy was playing the pinball machine with Rembrandt, and Swan was staring at a map of the city (as he would often do). It was difficult to fathom that everybody seemed so calm on such a dangerous occasion. Surely these guys had been used to this sort of thing by now.

11:02 PM

June 24, 1980

Swan had just reviewed the plan for what felt like the millionth time since it was formulated. Cowboy had come up with it when he studied the location we planned on meeting at. It sounded like it would work to some degree, but not necessarily to the point of victory. We had all gathered outside in an alley and street near the hangout. There must have been two-hundred plus soldiers listening to Swan.

"Warriors!" Swan concluded, "This may be the last night for some of you. But I know that whoever does not make it did so because they were defending Coney. That's why I wanna' have a toast to all you youngbloods and all you veterans to the game. Drink 'em if ya' got 'em."

Some of the Warriors that had beers in their hands raised them and cheered, while the others raised their fists. The roar of the crowd sort of knocked me off balance, but I kept my beer firmly pushed into the air until we were ready to drink.

"Cheers," Ajax (who was standing to Swan's right) said as he chugged his beer and broke the bottle over his shoulder.

Snow laughed at this, "Didn't that hurt, man?"

"Hell no," Ajax smiled, "I'm made a' iron."

I snickered a little and took some sips of my drink as well.

"Get strapped Warriors!" Swan commanded as he opened the door to the hangout to reveal the stash of blunts we had saved inside. Ajax and Snow entered first and distributed them to the Warriors. I saw chains, bats, boards, tire irons, pipes, police clubs and many more items leave the hangout in the hands of Warriors. Some, like me, brought their own weapons. Mine was the baseball bat I had stolen from the Furies during my initiation. It made me visualize the Furies packing their own squad with huge wooden clubs like mine. They freaked me out enough as it was.

Then came the march for the park. We were a walking with blunts in our hands and tough looks on our face. I saw soldiers spit on the ground and strap on leather finger gloves like the ones Ajax had. Others had torches in hand, and it reminded me of an angry mob ready to change something unfit in the world. The only irony was, we were that unfit thing.

About a hundred of the men gathered into the haunted ghost train at the park, while others split from the rest of us to carry out phase one of the plan. Some of the Warriors told me that this was the place where the old Hi-Hats leader, Chatterbox, died last year. Swan, Vermin, Snow, Crash and I climbed to the roof of the building and waited. Respectively, we were packing a wrench, a police club, a bike chain on a metal pole, and a flat head shovel. Snow also had a radio that was playing some smooth disco tunes. Then it fell silent and the DJ came on the radio. It must have been close to midnight by then.

"Tonight, boppers," she said, "We will witness the biggest matchup the streets have ever seen. There will be blood and there will be tears, but no amount of reason can stop the Grudge from taking over Coney Island. It's all a matter of time now. Keep your boys on patrol Warriors. Here come the meanest mothers you've ever bopped with. Good luck."

She signed off and played "All Along the Watchtower" by _The Jimi Hendrix Experience_. Just as the song began to pick up, I saw them. They were like a giant walking hill of inferno and cold faces. They just piled and piled over the horizon and I felt my heavy breathing. It was too late to back down. Even in a perfect world, it would seem rude to not give the soldiers who walked so far the fight they wanted. They too carried torches and I felt like I could sense the heat from the fires as the approached. When the army of over two thousand stopped their march, no insults were made, no items thrown, just murmurs from the troops. Then a few figures stepped forward. I recognized some as the leaders of their respected gangs.

"Ahh..." Crackerjack smiled, "It's so good to see you guys at this hour. You know, we've been waiting a long time to do this."

His voice reminded me of an old carney that used to work at a ring toss booth when I was younger. It was smarmy and sounded like his nose was being pinched shut when he talked. He scanned his eyes across the soldiers on the roof and Swan stepped forward.

"You pricks have done way too much to our gang," he kept his arms at his side and stood with a firm and calm voice, "You really think we're afraid of you?"

"You Warriors just don't know when to quit," Mato spoke and his words were followed by another heavy guitar riff from a fellow gang member in the back. I could also see Cobb silently nodding his head in agreement while holding his famous double bat at his side.

"Fuckin' _putas_ think you run da' damn city!" Vagras, the very large leader of the Hurricanes exclaimed.

"We ain't forgotten what you punks did to us!" the leader of the Eliminators yelled.

"You got my crew busted!" Nichi added, taking off his sharp sunglasses that he wore at night and later slipping on some expensive looking black leather gloves.

"And what the fuck did Birdie ever do to you fucks?" the Turnbull leader shook his fist at us, "You think that's cool wasting a cripple like 'dat?"

"Go ahead guys," Swan continued to stand his ground, despite the fact that he was about thirty feet in front of us, "I dare ya' to take us down."

He was really making me feel nervous. At this point, I guess he figured that it was okay to play with fire since we were all going to get burnt anyway.

"We got a surprise for you Warriors," Crackerjack smiled, "We're willing to let you guys back down. You do realize that we went through a lot to make this happen. What better way to get back at us than surrender? Just throw down the weapons and vests, and we can work this whole thing out. We might even let you guys join one of our gangs."

Swan starred at him and tilted his head a little. He then looked to Snow, who nodded his head slowly. Swan nodded his head back and turned to face Crackerjack again, "Fuck off jackass," he said calmly.

There were some jeers from the enemy army, but one of them began clapping and stepped forward. He was in a dark outfit with a hood that covered his face. He looked very similar to one of the characters in my dream the previous night. I bit my lip as the masked man stopped clapping and began to speak.

"Same ol' Warriors," he spoke in a raspy voice, "Never know when ta' back down. Always tryin' ta' show the other sets who's boss."

He then took off his hood and I felt like I would vomit for reasons other than the huge army in front of me. He was revealed as a bald, black man with severe burns on his face and hands (from what I could tell). His lips were hard and one of his eyes was a pale blue color, as opposed to the other, which was a very dark tint of brown.

"You look surprised Vermin," he smiled to show less than hygienic looking teeth.

"Virgil," Vermin stepped forward.

"In da' flesh," he raised his arms, "Or at least what's left of it. You fuckas' destroyed everything I had and left me fo' dead. If it weren't fo' me, you wouldn't be shit! Well fuck you Warriors!"

I had heard plenty of stories of how the Warriors rose up against the Destroyers to take over Coney Island and burn their hangout to the ground with their leader, Virgil, still in it. It was a dream of a fight that was looking to end in a nightmare now.

It was then that Ajax popped his head out of the trap door to the roof and caddied a sledgehammer in his shoulders.

"Hey, ladies," he yelled to the Grudge, "We gonna' get this show on the road or what?"

"Have it your way Warriors," Crackerjack smiled again, "I'm sick a' waiting too! Hi-Hats! Everybody! Kill these ugly cocks!"

He then raised a metal bat and the other leaders had their own weapons ranging from chains to wooden banisters. They moved in slowly and I felt a spine tingling fear fill my heart and my lungs. My breathing got quicker, but my feet stayed planted. I looked to the sky and saw the showers of bottles, bricks and broken glass fall onto the advancing army. The Warriors in the Wonder Wheel were armed to the teeth with projectiles, and would undertake phase one in our plan. Just before the fist piece of trash hit them, I saw a newspaper blowing in the wind off in the distance.


	12. Armying

Chapter 12: "Army-ing"

12:02 PM

June 25, 1980

The night of the fight...

If a gang chooses to go to war with another, they must do so for a good reason. They must prepare for the worst and expect the best. In the case of the Orphans, they were only fueled by rage and passion for revenge. They did not seem to care what happened to them as long as they put a dent in us. With a newfound confidence, any bopper could feel the strength to take on armies ten times our size. But regardless of one's state of mind, reality always kicks in, and it is usually not comforting. And yet, no matter how much honor a fight holds in its grasp, in the end, it is nothing more than man killing man. Nothing more, nothing less.

My grip on the bat tightened, even though it felt more like a security blanket than a means of self-defense. Cowboy had initiated phase one without missing a beat by commanding the Warrior youngbloods to throw their bricks, stones and bottles from the cars of the "Wonder Wheel". I had never even met most of them, and they were most likely our newest recruits because I would doubt anybody would willingly leave himself separate from the gang like that out of choice. But we felt enough confidence in Cowboy and Rembrandt to carry out the attack as planned. If anything went wrong though, they were the only real protection for the new bloods.

Instantly, it was a morale boost to see the enemy showered in shrapnel, as the objects broke and bounced with painful impacting sound. Some of the Grudge members even fell to the ground instantly and were horribly trampled by the advancing troops trying not to be the next hit. Adopting this strategy almost immediately, several of the enemy troops threw torches at the roof where we stood in an attempt to burn us or at least the ground we stood on. Only one torch actually hit me, and I was lucky enough to find that it was only the bottom end. It still hurt from the force thrown, but bounced back to the streets where it extinguished. Swan and Snow avoided attacks, and tried to gather the flaming pieces to toss them aside. At this point, we could not afford to lose the "Haunted Ghost Train" to fire. Vermin retreated through the escape hatch on the roof to meet up with Ajax and carry out the next part of the plan. I followed him, just as another wave of brick and glass came crashing down on the Grudge. Crash then came behind me, and Vermin led us both to our positions. We climbed down a ladder into a dimly lit hallway of sorts with train tracks on the floor.

"Alright dudes," he pointed upwards to a pole that was about nine feet above the train tracks, "I need you up there and ready. We already got our boys covering the rest of the tracks."

"Where are you goin'?" I asked him as I climbed to the pole.

"Gotta' find ol' big boy," he smiled, "Make sure this piece a' junk still works."

"Whatever," I replied and handed my bat over to Crash, "Hey, hold this 'til I get up here."

He took my weapon and handed it back when I was comfortably sitting on the horizontal pole. I then took his shovel in hand as he climbed. I feared he might break the pole, or at least bend it upon getting up, but he did not and I gave him back his weapon.

"How you feelin'?" I turned to him.

"I'm hangin' in there, ya know?" Crash smiled, "Feels good to be outta' sight for a while."

We waited for about five minutes and listened to the sound of crashes and cursing from behind the closed door of the ticket booth. Finally, there was the smashing of the door, and footsteps started to fill the air as they expanded in a huge succession.

"Look alive, man," I whispered and readied my bat.

From below, I could see Cobb leading a pack of Furies and Jesters along the tracks and pointing soldiers in their directions silently. I held my breath and hoped to God they would not see us. About forty or so enemies had entered the tracks, and I heard a voice from afar.

"Wreck these freaks!" came the booming voice of Ajax.

Without missing a beat, I lowered myself down and clobbered a Fury in the face with my bat. Then another was smashed in the back of the head before he could notice the situation at hand. Crash thrust his shovelhead at a Jester and inflicted a large cut atop his head that bled down to his yellow and purple headband. He then brought the shovel back up and swung it hard at the forehead of another Fury soldier, crumpling the brim of his cap. Then, the doors that led them into the cramped area closed automatically, and that was the signal to drop down and take out the troops.

Like a well-rehearsed routine, the Warriors all dropped down onto the enemy soldiers. The Furies showed faces I had never seen on them. Faces of fear. I felt myself drop onto one of their shoulders (although it was pretty hard to see since the lights were getting dimmer) and delivered an impulse kick to his ear before losing my balance and dropping to the floor. It was then that I had to realize we were done with sneak attacks, and we were done with trickery. It was nothing more than the good, old fashioned, standoff. The baseball clad character I had just stricken got up and charged at me with his bat over his head. He swung vertically, but I blocked holding mine horizontally with two hands. I then jabbed at his face and made contact with his cheek against the butt of the bat. He cocked his head back a little, and I swung for his legs with a full forced arc. I heard his legs unbuckle and he fell down to the floor, spinning ninety degrees in the air. He then began to rise up again, but I delivered a golf swing across his face that drew blood on impact. No sooner was he defeated that I was hit hard in the back. Another Fury had cracked me right in my left shoulder blade and made me fall foreword. I turned to see him prepare for another strike, but luckily Crash got him in a strangle hold using the body of the shovel he had. I rose up and realized my left arm was feeling strangely disjointed from the attack. I instead took my bat in my right hand alone and gave the Fury a horizontal attack to the stomach, trying my best not to hit Crash in the process. He spit out blood, and I raised hit head up with the tip of the bat before giving him a vicious swing across the face. This attack was what finally splintered my weapon. I watched the top six inches of the bat crack open and fall to the ground, along with the character I had just hit with it. I figured I had better replace it with one at the feet of a fallen soldier, but Crash suddenly exclaimed something and pointed behind me. It was clearly a warning, so I turned around quickly to see one of the Jesters ready to nail me with a metal pipe. He made a quick, one-handed strike for my temple, but I managed to get my head out of harm's way and use my good arm to thrust the broken bat at his abdomen. As it made contact, I heard the Jester gasp and cough over the din of the fight beside me. The bat had stuck about three inches into him and drew a good deal of blood. He seemed more visibly angry than worried and swung madly at me with the metal pipe. He narrowly missed me several times, but eventually made contact with the left side of my jaw. The impact made my mouth vibrate a little and I could hear a harsh clicking noise from inside my head. But after the attack, he was spent and dropped the pipe with a loud echo of metal on concrete. I swiftly grabbed it, and cracked him one in the skull for his ruthless attack. At this point, I needed something a little less top-heavy at my disposal anyway. A scan of the narrow area confirmed that we were actually winning this part of the fight. Many of the Furies and Jesters were already lying motionless on the ground, and the one's still standing were ridiculously outnumbered. Ajax and Vermin were even working together for once as they mowed down one of the Furies. Vermin held his arms, and Ajax took pleasure in smashing the guy's feet, one after the other, before smashing him in the chest with his trusty sledgehammer. The result was a knocked out foe, and likely a crushed sternum in the process. It also made me feel proud to see the youngbloods taking to the fight with such vigor and indomitable spirit. It almost gave me hope that we could turn the fight around.

"Fuckin' 'ey!" Ajax exclaimed after raising his hammer over his shoulder.

"That was some heavy shit, man!" Vermin smiled. He had very minor wounds about him, which was a breath of fresh air, since we had lost about ten soldiers to the attack. He had two or so bruises on his arm, and Ajax had only three, along with a slightly bloodied nose. But with him, it could have very well been somebody else's blood.

"Hey," Ajax pointed to one of the locked up doors with his hammer, "Take a look at that."

He was pointing to three Baseball Furies who were struggling to beat the door down and get out of the situation alive. Their bats cracked an equally tough looking wooden frame. Ajax shot a devilish smile to Vermin, who in turn shot it to me, and me to Crash. We slowly moved in on them, weapons drawn. Some other Warriors saw what we were doing, and followed our lead. We stood over them, about eighty men strong, and they quickly stared at us in shock.

"What?" Ajax asked them, "You gonna' scream? I wanna' hear that happen."

It was then that two of the Furies showed some balls and readied their weapons for a fight. The last guy picked up where he left off and tried to pry the door open. The attacking Furies charged at Ajax and Vermin. This was their first mistake, as Ajax ducked one of the attacks and thrust the head of his hammer into the chest of his foe. This caused him to double over, only to receive a vertical drop of the hammer to his spine. He dropped to the floor quickly, and loudly. The other Fury charged Vermin, but Vermin stayed cool about it and stepped to the side, quickly forcing him into a chokehold with hit police club.

"Turk," he prompted me, "Take out this ugly fuck."

I nodded and delivered a powerful hit with the pipe I held against the jaw of the baseball freak. His head snapped sideways, and he was released to a lifeless state. We had only one Fury left, and he was actually making some headway on the escape, as he had almost made a hole big enough to throw a bat through in the barred door. He turned around and saw us move in on him, and him alone. He must have known that he had nothing left to lose, because he let out a very rare shriek when Ajax stepped up to him.

"Lemme' give ya' a hand," he told the Fury evilly. Before he could even fight back, Ajax snatched the guy's collar and belt, and lifted him off the ground. He then proceeded to use the Fury's head like a battering ram against the door. It was a slow pace, but every hit echoed through the narrow hallway-like room. After three minutes or so of torture, Ajax dropped the motionless player.

"Ha ha," Vermin laughed in a rather high pitched voice, "That was wicked, man!"

"Well somebody's gotta' keep you dudes entertained," Ajax said with his left arm lifted. He picked up his hammer and went to the control panel, "You guys go find Swan."

Vermin nodded, and thirty seconds later, the door opened, and the remaining Warriors stepped out to the cold streets. Outside, we could see many of the Grudge members advancing on the "Wonder Wheel" task force. Since we were able to start it up properly, the wheel kept spinning in such a way that our soldiers would not be open to attacks for any longer than four seconds each. It was encouraging to see them still fight off their attackers, but I had a feeling they were literally fighting a losing battle. I had not even noticed that Virgil had been standing right in front of us when we walked out. His discolored eyes fixed on us, and he smiled through his chapped lips.

"You have any idea what it was like Vermin?" he asked condescendingly, "You burnt my fuckin' nuts off! You and dat' cock-sucka' Cleon! Now it's your turn to burn!"

His likely intentional rhyme was followed by an uncovering of Molotov Cocktails under his jacket (or whatever he was wearing). They both had dirty white rags hanging from green bottles. A pair of Hi-Hats immediately followed and lit the rags with matches. Virgil grinned again before tossing both bombs at us. The one thrown by his left hand veered off into the "Haunted Ghost Train", where it promptly set the building aflame. The one thrown by his right hand was more accurate and exploded on Vermin. I heard him scream and curse when the fire began to dance across his body. In ideal circumstances, I had always imagined somebody being on fire due to their clothing catching flame. But not only was Vermin's vest charring, so too were his arms. They almost looked like they were melting when he fell to the ground and tried to roll the flames off. With no fire extinguisher, water, or other solution, we were useless to help him. All we could do was call his name and scream that he make it through the pain. But it was clear that the burning was too much, and he could roll no more. He died before the flames even fully extinguished. When I saw him die without being able to do anything about it, I felt adrenaline kick in, and I ran up to Virgil with a clean blow to his face with my metal blunt. I did not want him to have the satisfaction of watching his old accomplice, and my former warchief perish. He stumbled over and twisted his body so that he landed on his knees. I only hit him again with a vertical attack to the side of his bald head. This is where the rest of the Warriors followed, and effectively wasted the two Hi-Hats that were assisting him.

"Where's Ajax?" somebody asked.

"Awww shit," Crash exclaimed, "He's still inside!"

"He'll make it out," I said, "I think we got more important shit at the moment."

I nudged him, and he looked foreword, along with the pack of surviving Warriors. In front of us was a thirty-man line of Turnbull AC's. At first I was not worried, as we outnumbered them about three to one, and they were not even packing weapons. But my confidence soon shattered after they spoke to us.

"You cocks wanna' mess with some ragin' bulls?" one of them yelled, "This one's for Birdy!"

Birdy was the cocky wheelchair bound leader of the Turnbulls, until we took him out for taking pot shots at our members. It was always a difficult thing for us to justify given the condition of the guy, but Cochise used to insist that it had to be done.

After the Turnbull said this, he and the rest of the blockade pulled out cans of Flash, opened them, and gave them big snorts.

Flash was a favorite among boppers in New York City. There was nothing better to stimulate a dude in a bad situation than an ingenious mix of caffeine, nicotine, and cocaine, all stuffed in a highly pressurized can. I did not do the stuff often, but I was certainly aware of its effects, and how dangerous it could be to anybody who got in my way.

The snorts were followed by yelling and crazy waving arms. The Turnbulls let out horrid war cries and charged at us full speed with their arms up, and ready for tackling. I stood my ground and prepared for the attack, but I could not shake off the Turnbull that came at me, for his hit packed so much force that I fell flat on my back and smacked my head on the pavement below. My back was already hurting (among other places) and I did not want to deal with this much pain at the moment, let alone have a drugged up skin head try to pummel my face. He actually landed about five good hits to my face, but they were in such fast continuation, that it was hard to tell. I was eventually able to free my arms, and grabbed the front of his shirt. I pulled him in toward me, and head butted his face with as much force as I could use. The impact broke his nose, but only managed to infuriate him more. Ceasing the opportunity from when he rubbed his face in pain, I threw him off of me and sprung back to my feet.

It was then that I felt the first cold raindrop hit my exposed flesh. I felt that usual incredulousness when one feels the first drop, as if it were some figment of my imagination before another person announces that it is indeed raining. This time, I heard thunder and more drops to confirm my suspicion about the weather. But it could not concern me too much, as I had a crazy drugged up skinhead to deal with at the moment.

He swung at me with a right-handed punch, and I swiftly blocked. But this did not stop him as he continued to strike my blocking arm until it felt bruised and sensitive. It was already hurting enough from the damage I already sustained. Before he could hit my left arm again, I quickly swiped him in his arm with my pipe. It made a solid banging noise, and it looked to be enough force to break his hand. Suddenly, I was violently swept across the legs from my side and felt my feet go sideways and into the air while my body went crashing down. I was actually being hit with one of the Warriors who was thrown into me by a flashed up Turnbull. Only my feet landed on him, and I tried not to come crashing down with the full force of my lower body. I then tried to help him up, only to find that his face was oozing a ton of blood. The only way I could describe the splatter was like a slab of strawberry jelly ranging from the top of his head to the bottom of his mouth, intersecting two black (and now shut) eyes. Distracted by the event, I literally got my ass kicked from behind by the Turnbull I had been fighting. The attack was so powerful, it actually knocked the wind out of me, and I almost shit myself on the spot. I spun clockwise around swiftly and swung my right leg in a wheel motion across his temple. He fell over to his left, and I pounced to deliver several more attacks while he was down. I had to be every bit as ferocious as he was if I was going to beat them. I kicked and stomped him while we was on the ground until he could squirm no more. I then spit on his body, which was no more than propelling hot, stringy blood on him. As usual, my victory was short lived when another Turnbull grabbed me from behind. He had me in a classic full nelson, and another skinhead wanted to join in on the fun. He looked at me and laughed, revealing some crooked and mangy looking teeth. His appearance was annoying me enough, but when he began punching me in the stomach, I was pushed over the edge. He then stopped and smiled at me again. He brought his dirty hands up to my mouth and grasped my dry lower lip between his index and thumb. I wanted to bite his fingers, or break his arms, but he moved too fast. He then quickly pulled laterally to tear my lip open slightly. The pain was far greater than I could have imagined. I could feel blood pour down my chin within a second of the act. The shock made me yelp, and I wished upon God's good will that I would be saved from the situation. Apparently, God wished for me to suffer for a little longer. The Turnbull seemed to enjoy tormenting me, and punched me square in the face, breaking my nose and sending unwanted tears to my eyes. Today, I would be able to explain the whole science behind why this happens, but at the moment, all I could think about was the highly pressurized pain in my face.

Then, in a moment of "where the fuck have you been?" theatrics, Snow clubbed the attacking Turnbull with a bat and knocked him to the ground. From there, he proceeded to bash him violently until his flashed up rage ended. As soon as Snow entered the fight, the skinhead who was holding me let go of one arm and tried to twist my right one out of shape. I was indeed weak from the previous onslaught, but I tried to hold him off until somebody came to my aid. When no one did, I kicked at his thigh from behind me, breaking his grip and giving me space to face him one on one. When he prepared another attack, he was blind-sided by Leos, who had a wrench in hand and cracked the Turnbull with enough force to splatter blood on himself. He wasted no time in finishing the job, and I wiped some of the blood off of my face while attempting to find the lead pipe I dropped when I was grabbed. The whole scene was getting dizzy due to my injury, but I found my weapon and looked ahead to see what would approach next. The site was not good.

"You cheap fucks are in for it," Mato was standing in front of his army of Stonebreakers. His words were finished with the ever-infamous electric guitar, but since it was not plugged into an amp, it was much softer and just sounded silly. But the goth playing it then started wielding it like a club. I stared them down for a while and waited for Snow and Leos to take my side. They walked in closer, and there was a calm on the battlefield. At least it was calm on that side of the park, as the Eliminators and Colt 45s were loudly attempting to advance on our boys on the "Wonder Wheel". I took a good look at some of the enemy Stonebreakers, of whom were carrying iron clubs, hammers, maces and even whips.

Then I saw him. It was the closest thing I had ever witnessed as a devil on earth. It was the Stonebreaker who killed Rex over a month ago. He was the one that made me question my existence, and cast me into a world of loneliness. But most importantly, he was the one that took a Warrior and a friend out of my life. He was like a bully at school who I wish I could stand up to with all my aggression. But it seemed like whatever one has in aggression, a bully can make up for in numbers. It mattered very little to me how reality was going to make me feel. His face paint was vexing me, and I was on the brink of charging. But I figured I had better stall until more reinforcements showed up.

"Tear these wimps apart!" Ajax commanded as he stepped up beside us. His outfit was a little blackened, most likely because he had escaped the remains of the now towering inferno of the "Haunted Ghost Ride". Ajax was quick to begin the attack and swung a massive strike across three Stonebreakers at once. They went colliding into fellow troops, and we began our advance as well. The taste of blood was on my tongue, and I knew I would have to witness more before this night ended.

I worked myself up to a full charge and jabbed my weapon into the "devil's" pale neck. He gagged and coughed, while spitting out ounces of blood, but he smacked me across the arm with his club and made me drop my pipe. Hoping he would be too distracted by his successful disarming, I spun and swept his feet, causing him to fall onto the ground. I kicked at him, but was stung in the back by something. Even though my vest absorbed most of the blow, I felt the hot crack of a whip hit me. I turned to see a Stonebreaker preparing for another hit. He managed it; this time to my stomach. The attack knocked the wind out of me, and tore my shirt slightly. I was powerless against him, until Ajax showed up and delivered an upwards swing from his hammer against the man with the whip. The strike, however, would be the last Ajax dealt with that particular weapon, as the metal head snapped off and hit the ground. Wasting no time, I picked up the fragment and chucked it at the "devil" before he could stand again. And even as he lay there, I kicked him in the head until he began to bleed, and claimed his iron club as my own.

There was then a very loud metal banging noise. It was followed by a duel banging noise, and then just the one. They continued in succession, like a metronome. I turned to see that the "Wonder Wheel" was swaying side to side. In all the confusion, the Grudge had managed to undo most of the supports to the ride, and it was only a matter of time before it tipped over and landed my fellow Warriors into a watery demise. Unless of course it landed forward, in which case there would be a horrible display of road kill and carnage. Either way, it was evident that something horrible would happen if we could not contain the Grudge, as if we did not already know that.

I then turned forward, only to see Mato swing a mace at my head. While evading it only ended up grazing my ear, but it still hurt like any other attack, and I feared I would have even more bleeding to deal with. I had no time to strike back, for Mato's guitar player made like Pete Townshend and smashed his guitar across my body. The hit was extraordinarily painful, and sent me flying to the side, almost doing a roll in the process. I remembered feeling every last string snap and whip my flesh on impact. It was then that Swan showed up and kicked the now unarmed attacker in the shoulder, causing him to fly backwards. He then stood down Mato, who was preparing his weapon for a clean hit. Swan was the first to swing, and his attacking wrench clashed with Mato's mace. Upon impact, the mace's head shattered, and sent shards flying at his face.

"Piece of shit!" he exclaimed, and was cracked in the skull with a merciless hit from Swan. This was just the boost in morale that I needed, and I rose to my feet to return the favor to the guitar playing Stonebreaker. I stood over him and jabbed him in the face with my club violently, before picking up the pace and delivering swings to the face. He was left to bleed, like so many more of the troops.

The loud banging in the background began to pick up, and it was at that very moment, a chill went down my spine. The "Wonder Wheel" had tipped too far, and fell over the pier and into the water. The disjointing made a sonic boom of a sound, and the impact into the sea was just as loud. It made my knees buckle slightly, and I could see that even people in heated tussles were stopping to watch the event take place. I wanted to tell myself that they would be fine, since they landed in the water. But sadly, I knew that an impact that harsh would annihilate even the toughest of Warriors. That brought the toll of dead lieutenants for the night up to three, with Rembrandt and Cowboy joining the count. They were the two most creative minds in the gang, and I could not believe that they had to go as well. The overwhelming amounts of cheers from the Grudge were not encouraging either. I wanted to wake from the nightmare I was in.

But the tragedy could only live for so long, as a Stonebreaker with a large metal chain charged me. He spun it around sickly, and I prepared myself to try and get out of his way. He swung overhand, and I stepped to the left. He was then able to flick the chain at my jaw, and pain began to build in that region once again. I did not even think, and countered with a swing of the club to his arm. He made no expression to the hit, and swung at my body with the chain. It wrapped around half of me, and smacked my opposite side. At this, I dropped my club, but did not give in, as I pulled the Stonebreaker in by his chain and punched him furiously in the face. Then I had him in a hold, and pulled his head downwards to meet my knee. The hit sent blood flying, as well as his weapon, and I picked it up, rather liking the range I could use it for.

Just then, another Stonebreaker bumped into me, and I spun to hit him. But Ajax had the situation under control, and was shoving the goth around, until he fell flat on his back. When this happened, Ajax signaled to me with his hands, and I tossed him the chain I was holding. He caught it like a pro, and spun it once before crushing the downed Stonebreaker with a deadly overhead strike. I did not even watch the impact. I only saw the blood fly onto Ajax's chest. He then tossed me back my reddened weapon.

It turned out that we were able to defeat the wave of Stonebreakers, and with the help of our remaining troops, we finished the job. But then I looked to see that the unit that took down the "Wonder Wheel" was now ready to fight the rest of us. It was as if their numbers had doubled, and we could only stand and wait for the next gang to step foreword.

The next attackers made themselves heard with a harmonious beat of wooden sticks. The beat continued, and got louder as they approached, and we all stared at them as they moved in on our position.

"This is the NYPD!" screamed a riot cop over a loudspeaker, "Cease and desist now!"

The cops showed up just like I figured they would, and were continuing to bang their riot sticks against their shields as they marched in, ready to arrest a few hundred criminals. It was then that the sprinkling drizzle of the rain became a predictable downpour, and thunder filled the air again, like so many other loud bumps in the night.


	13. Crime and Punishment

Chapter 13: Crime and Punishment

3:43 AM

June 25, 1980

I had never been to prison before. Even with so much time spent alongside criminals, the thought never really crossed my mind. Certainly it would be a fate better than death, especially since that was the one I was already planning on, but there was always that reluctant doubt when trying new things. Or rather, having the new things suck you in against your will. In any case, the strategy remained the same. We would continue the fight until we became those bloody pulps we were contemplating.

"This is your final warning!" bellowed the officer over the bullhorn, "Drop your weapons, or we will use force!"

The riot cops were a large number to be reckoned with, and since they had not a scratch on them, they were much better prepared to fight. But with such a building rage and animal fury coming from every bopper, in every direction, we would not back down.

I was far too distracted with the advancing cops to notice that the Black Hands were approaching us. They actually looked pretty cool, despite my inherited hatred of them. They had their black and white mafia-esche suits, and black leather gloves. Each was packing a weapon ranging from blackjacks, bats, canes, golf clubs, hammers and even brass knuckles (which seemed to be on at least thirty percent of them).

"You pricks thought you pulled a fast one on us!" Nichi spoke up, "Well the Black Hands ain't nobody's pushover!" he stopped moving, as did the rest of the gang, "Fuck 'em up!" he then commanded with his arms raised in the air. The enemy troops started at a quick pace toward us.

Once again, I was feeling a little unnerved and thought of how nice it would have been to take a nap at home on my couch with the heat cranked up, rather than fight out here in the cold and rain.

The Black Hands charged, and we stood our ground, as always. One came at me with his brass knuckles, and I swung at him with my chain. But the attack wrapped around his arm, doing superficial damage, and I was decked in the head with a rude blow from his armored fist. The hit made me stumble, and I almost fell to the ground. But I got my footing and yanked on the chain in hopes that it would do some sort of damage when ripped. Luckily, the chain wrapped around him tightly enough to jerk him toward me. Upon this, I kicked him in the side and wiggled the chain to get it back. As it came back, I spun it vertically and dropped it on the Black Hand as he was preparing to attack again. The hit brought him to his knees, where upon I wrapped the chain around his neck and twisted it in an effort to asphyxiate him. After about five seconds of strangling, I was then clubbed in the side of my head and dropped my chain as I fell to the wet ground.

"You're comin' with me punk!" said the riot cop who struck me. He then readied his pair of handcuffs and struggled to get them on me. I gave him my best resistance, but sadly I was weak at this point and felt like a little jail time would have been better than any more fighting. The cop was not gentle with me, and pushed my face into the rain soaked asphalt as he captured my left, then my right hand. I could only lay there and take it, hoping to God that it would all be over soon, and I could be out of this dreadful place.

As I lay there motionless, all I could see was the fight scene before me. The police were storming every gang member in their way, and doing their best to make them as incapacitated as I was. Some of the Grudge was able to keep them away. The Hi-Hats fought back with mallets, and protected Crackerjack with a furious tenacity. As for the Black Hands, it was more of the same goose chasing I had seen weeks earlier when we hit Riverside. It almost made me smile, but I was in too much pain to make one happen.

Then I saw Ajax fighting off several cops at once with a metal club in hand. He smacked one cop across the face, and another was stabbed by the blunt tip before being kneed in the face. More and more cops showed up to replace the ones he wasted, but Ajax was ready for more. In an act of desperation, the police began to tackle Ajax one by one. This only made him more furious, and he smacked anybody that got near him, or laid a finger on him. I even saw a cop lose most of his teeth when Ajax swung at him. Suddenly, the club became overused, and bent considerably back. At this, the police pounced on him, and Ajax screamed in anger at them.

"You fuckin' pigs!" he bellowed madly, "I ain't goin' back to jail! I ain't fuckin' goin' back!"

He kicked and screamed as they took him down, but he was eventually on his back. Yet he did not quit, and still punched any officers that tried to cuff him. Then, the police began to grow tired of his antics and started beating him over and over with their clubs. I could hear Ajax screaming at the top of his lungs, and he still managed to kick three of the officers off of him. Then he threw a cop over him and tried to stand up. But he was knocked right back down, and at last the mighty Ajax had fallen. The cops wiped the sweat and blood from themselves, and one cuffed his motionless body.

My heart sunk, and I felt like all hope was finally gone. I had not seen Snow, nor Swan in a while, and hoped they were still standing. Likewise, Crash would have to still be in the game for this battle to even be possible.

I was suddenly tripped over by somebody, and I could not turn to see who it was. All I knew was that their heels dug into my side when they fell, and I felt an annoying pain sear there.

"Turk!" exclaimed Snow, "Gimme' a second," he swiftly fiddled with the cuffs on my hands and through some tinkering was able to free me.

"Thanks man," I said as I rose up. I was still in tremendous pain, and lying on my front side for several minutes did not take kindly to my knees.

"Look out!" he yelled at me, and I turned quickly to see one of the Eliminators coming at me with a blackjack. I stepped aside quickly and allowed Snow to swing at him with a bat. The Eliminator fell over, and I stomped on him before taking his weapon.

"You stick close by, man," Snow told me.

"Gotcha'," I nodded my head in response.

"We gotta' find Swan," he commanded.

I nodded again, and we ran off into a larger crowd of fighting. We looked left and right, but finally spotted our warchief doing his best to ward off the Colt 45s that were surrounding him. We flew into action and I kicked one guy over with the rough push of my leg. Then I hit another in the ear with my blackjack. He held the stricken spot, and I backhanded him with the blackjack clenched in my fist. He stumbled, and I jumped in the air to deliver a kick to his shoulder, causing him to finally fall to his back. Then, like a reflex I picked up in the fight, I spun and swung at anybody who was trying to sneak up on me. I missed any presumed targets, but I did see several more Colts on the attack. I made my way to Swan, as did Snow, and we formed a circle back to back as more enemies closed in.

"Any ideas Swan?" Snow asked in desperation.

"Yeah," Swan responded, "We buy some time."

"Whatdaya' mean?" I asked.

He pointed ahead and we saw a familiar face standing atop a concession stand.

"Riffs!" screamed Masai, addressing his soldiers atop several more small stands and fixtures.

"Yeah right!" they all yelled in unison.

"Protect the Warriors!" he declared, and the four hundred or so sized army of the Riffs made their way to the battlefield. We saw some leap from their respected raised features, while others approached on foot. They had bats, clubs, chains, nunchakus, stones, bottles, wrenches, and a will to fight. It was the ultimate fight of fire versus fire.

"Shit!" I heard one of the Colts exclaim.

"Yo, it's the fuckin' Riffs, man!" another yelled.

"What the fuck are they doin' here?" yet another asked in fear.

"I don't wanna' find out!"

"Me neither!"

"Let's bolt!"

The Colt 45s were not the only ones to begin retreating. Several more of the Eliminators were already heading for the beach. But many more stood their ground. After all, we were still heavily outnumbered. I saw the Riffs approach the platoon of Hurricanes and Satan's Mothers, who met them with a fierce defense. Vargas, the hulking warchief of the Hurricanes tried to push several of the Riffs away with his huge mass. But the Riffs earned their reputation not just for their numbers, but also for their skill. Two of the Riffs held down Vargas arms, and Masai delivered a kick to his face that shattered his sunglasses (yet another person who wore them, even at night) and send him flat on his back. Then the Riffs advanced on them with their blunts readied. They swung and hacked apart the rock hard defense until there were no more men in their way.

The Punks then took their hand at taking out the huge army. They were quicker on the attack and managed to get some hits in on the Riffs. But they sprung into action and dropped every last one of them. Not a single Punk walked away unscratched.

The cops noticed that the Riffs were closing in, and at this point, the NYPD was outnumbered from every side. With this in mind, they stepped off of the Black Hands they were attempting to bust.

"This place is too hot Garrison!" one of the riot cop chiefs said into a radio, "We need to evacuate the spot before we lose anymore men out here!"

He paused for a second to let an incomprehensible radio message feed into his ears.

"I don't give a fuck!" he screamed after the message, "They can all just kill each other! But I'm gonna' at least save my own ass before this is all over!"

And with that, the chief screamed for the cops to pull back. All that could still move wasted no time in breaking free of their fighting and heading for the streets. It was a breath of fresh air to at least see some danger leave me. And even then, the Riffs were able to even the score with the Grudge. Only a few more regiments were on their feet. This was our chance to take out the threat that held us down for so long.

I sprung on one of the Colts with a rush of morale and took him down. Then, I smacked one, then two more Colts with my blackjack. When they advanced, I shot my heel into one of their chests. The other got a blow to the knee, which seemed to disjoint him slightly. I gave him one more hit to the head to insure his decent. Then, the guy I had dropped earlier grabbed me from behind, but after a little struggling, I tossed him over my shoulder and felt his arm break as he toppled. He smashed the ground hard on his legs, which might have also fractured.

Swan was fighting his way through the Colts as well. He gave one a heavy uppercut and then punched him in the gut as his head tilted upwards. Snow swung his bat downward at a Colt and nailed him in the shoulder, where he fell forward. He then got a second, similar blow, which sent him to his knees, and a final one to make him lie down.

I saw Masai and his band of men approach. Swan looked him in the eyes and they walked up to us just as the remaining Colts were fleeing.

"So why'd you do it?" Swan asked sternly.

"You Warriors were right," Masai responded even sterner, "Everybody deserves a second chance."

"Thank you," Swan nodded his head.

"We will drive the enemy troops off your turf. We need you to finish their command. Then we will leave the rest to you."

"That's all I needed to hear."

"Riffs!" Masai bellowed.

"Yeah right!" the Riff soldiers replied.

"Get this Grudge out of Coney!" he commanded.

Without missing a beat, the Riffs engaged the last of the Grudge infantry while Swan, Snow and I went after the Hi-Hats. They were armed with wooden mallets, bats, canes, and chains. They stood us down on our approach. They were our worst of enemies, and the reason only a handful of the Warriors stood. If they would not let the death of their leader go, then this was their final stand. If we did not finish them, then the Riffs would. I just hoped that we would see it all through to the end. I cracked my knuckles and looked to Swan for the command.

"Take 'em out!" Swan raised his arm. We were three men against twenty at this point. It was the first time I had seen Crackerjack since the fight began. He was kind of short and portly with a white top hat and matching shirt with black stripes around his arms. These were complimented by dark blue suspenders. I hated mimes, and the fact that the Hi-Hats dressed like they did made me ready for blood.

I ran for one of the Hi-Hats packing a bat. I tried to gain control over his arm by grabbing and spinning it, but he broke free and swung at me. I was hit in the side, and the blow frustrated me. I let out a small scream and attempted to attack again. He was prepared for me and stepped aside before hitting me again, this time in the chin. I saw my blood fly into the air as I fell backwards. Never before had I been flicked flat on my back by one shot, but it was a rude awakening. The Hi-Hat soldier stood over me and swung downward with his bat. I was hit in the right knee, which kept me from getting back up. I felt completely helpless as he swung at me again. But before he could make contact, he was thrust laterally with a ton of force as Crash rushed him with the butt of a pool stick.

The Hi-Hat rolled to the ground, dropping his weapon. Crash helped me up, and then quickly sprung on the Hi-Hat he had dropped. Just as he did this, he was hit in the forehead with a mallet from another soldier. I would not let him get away with it, and slapped him across the face with my blackjack before he even noticed where I was. I then delivered a backhand to him and cross-kicked him to the ground. He rose quickly, but was stopped by my elbow as I rammed it into his face. He dropped to his knees, and I gave him another slap to the ear with my leather weapon. He let out a cry of pain, but it would not save him, for the next shot to the face was from my overworked foot. He was knocked out within the first stomp.

I then spotted my next target. He wore a red shirt and a despicable smile. He let out a high-pitched cackle that made me angry to even listen to. All the while, he was spinning a cane around his index finger, taunting me. I charged at him with a battle cry flying from my dry, bloody mouth. He giggled and stuck the cane out for me to run into. I was jabbed fiercely by the weapon in the gut. The hit knocked the wind out of me for at least the forth time that night. He then jabbed me in the forehead, and my head snapped backwards. But before he could jab me in the nuts, I pushed the stick away and yanked it out of his hands. I then proceeded to beat him over the head with it, swinging the cane wildly with my right hand. Then, with my left hand, I clobbered him again with my blackjack after he thought the attack had ended. Finally, he was on his knees, and I waved the cane in his face, taunting him like he did to me. Without warning, he lunged for the stick, but I retracted and shoved it forcefully into his right eye. He screamed in pain, and held his injured face, where upon I swung overhead with the cane and broke the wooden instrument over his head. He was unmistakably down and out at this point.

Our final fight with the Hi-Hats was starting to look prosperous. Despite their best efforts, we were still wasting scores of them. I saw Swan tossing a mime over his shoulder, and onto the hard ground. Meanwhile, Crash was holding his own against a Hi-Hat nervously swinging a bat at him. Snow was struggling with one of them, and I decided to step in when he got the clown into a chokehold.

"Wreak this fucker, man!" Snow commanded.

He did not need to tell me twice, and I swiftly rammed the Hi-Hat's head into my knee, not once, but twice. He collapsed, and Snow let him fall.

"Nice one, man!" Snow commented to me.

"Let's finish these dudes!" I said on the verge of victory.

Snow nodded with a smile. But the smile stayed on his face longer than I had anticipated, for just as we were about to take on Crackerjack, he made the first move. A loud gunshot echoed through the heavy din of the night. I saw Snow's happy face turn to an emotionless one as two more rounds pierced his arm and side, preceding the first that sliced through his neck. The blood spilled did not even faze me in comparison to seeing another friend of mine fade away.

"You son of a bitch!" I screamed frantically, at Crackerjack. I made a furious humming noise as I ran for him, but luckily, Swan was there to hold me back.

"Leave him Turk!" Swan commanded as he clenched my vest. I had half a mind to tear off the vest and try to do as much damage to the gun-wielding freak as I could before he finished me. Fortunately, I cooled down enough to resist the temptation.

"You Warriors are fucked!" Crackerjack shook madly with the gun pointed at us. It was a standard .38 caliber six-shooter with a chrome finish.

"What are you gonna' do, man?" Swan asked coolly, "You got three shots left, and three of us standing," he pointed to Crash and I. I knew we weren't the last three Warriors, as I had seen Dozer and Leos earlier, sticking close to the Riffs, as well as other youngbloods. But that did not make the moment any less intense.

"Shut the fuck up!" Crackerjack aimed at Swan.

"You better make 'em count," he replied, "You better make sure you take us all out, or you're fuckin' history, man."

"I've been waitin' too long to let this thing go!" Crackerjack interjected.

"What a faggot," I egged him on, "You guys said just blunts. So what the fuck are you doin' with a gun, eh?"

"I'll fuckin' kill you!" he screamed; now pointing at me.

"Yeah," Crash stepped forward, "Kill all of us. Then the Riffs'll be real happy, ya know?"

"Fuck the Riffs," he turned to Crash, his voice getting more stressed by the moment.

"You don't have the balls, man!" I taunted, actually loving how freaked out we were making him.

"Take the shot Crackerjack!" Swan joined.

"Awwww... shit!" Crackerjack snapped and raised his gun toward Swan. But as soon as he began to lift it, he had squeezed the trigger too hard and fired a shot into the ground, "Fuck!" he exclaimed, and pointed the weapon properly at Swan, who was unmoved.

"You're done for," Swan crossed his arms.

"Fuck you!" he cried, and shot at him. But his shaky hand failed him again, and Swan was left without a new scratch.

"That's enough," Masai exclaimed from behind Crackerjack. He put his hand on the mime's shoulder, and prepared to disarm him.

"Die!" Crackerjack hissed and spun quickly enough to break free of Masai's grip, and land a shot in his attacker's head. The man in the mirror-like sunglasses dropped his jaw slightly and fell backwards into the hands of his fellow Riffs. My heart felt like it stopped as I watched the pained looks on the faces of the many Riffs who witnessed the murder.

"You motha' fucka'!" one of them screamed and lunged for the now disarmed Hi-Hat.

Crackerjack fled them, but ran directly into us. Swan and Crash did their best to hold him back, and I was on the ready in case he broke past. Within a matter of seconds, the Riffs descended on Crackerjack and began to beat him furiously with their elbows.

He was pulverized for what seemed like half an hour before they had had enough. Crackerjack's broken body was laying about fifty feet from Masai's, and some of the Riffs took the liberty of lifting it, and carting it off to the ocean.

One of the Riffs then approached Swan with an uncomfortable look.

"Next time you Warriors need help," he said sternly, "Go find someone else. C'mon guys, lets split," he then turned to the other Riff, who shot us equally stern looks before walking off the battlefield as if their leader's death was all our fault.

It was then that the futility of the situation truly filled the air. We were completely surrounded by our fallen soldiers, as well as the fallen enemy. The cost we paid was far more than any of us had ever willed for a victory. Perhaps a Warrior never surrenders, but he can only be punished with life after the fact. I wanted somebody to break the silence that followed the exodus of the Riffs, but not a soul could be heard.

I stared out at the ocean and listened for the hypnotizing sounds of the waves crashing to carry my soul away from the place I fought all night to protect. The sound became louder and louder in my eardrums, until it was almost deafening. It made my head hurt, and I closed my eyes while covering my ears. But the sound kept pounding away. My legs then started to buckle, not from pain, but from what seemed like the weight of myself. I shook furiously on the way down, and I felt my tongue go dry. It had seemed like Swan and Crash were trying to see what was wrong with me, but I could not hear them anymore. All I heard was rumbling, followed by dead silence.


	14. Warrior Red

Chapter 14: Warrior Red

2:24 PM

June 25, 1980

Death can be a handsome reward. A message spelled out in the blood one spills, whether it be their own or otherwise, can heavily effect the value of this reward. With so many Warriors dead, it was clear that their message of devotion shined on after their passing. To die like a bopper means to go out swinging and survive until the final round. Even in death, the opponent can be devastated by one's drive, and haunted by the fact that they cannot erase that fear planted in their hearts.

I had none of the fear, or a message to convey when I died. I merely faded away, flabbergasted by the results of a fight well won. My last thoughts were of futility, not just for my own life, but all of those lost in the fight. I tried to tell myself that it was how I would have wanted it, but I cannot help having a conscience. Perhaps it was what let my friends die. But perhaps it was also what kept me alive.

As I awoke from my hospital bed, I felt the ringing in my ears start to wane a little, and I rubbed my head trying to sort out the situation. My eyeballs stung as I arose, and my temples were throbbing. I could see little squiggly lines (for lack of better term) traveling in and out of my field of vision against the yellow backdrop of the hospital wallpaper.

"Have a rough night?" a familiar voice asked from my left side. I saw Henry the bum sitting up, looking at me with a smile and one eye open slightly more than the other.

"You have no idea," I protested, rubbing my pounding head again and closing my eyes.

"You wanna' bet Warrior?" I heard him reply, "Now _you_ know what war's like."

I shut my eyes even harder, trying to fight back the overall image of seeing all of my friends fade away, one by one. I looked to the squiggly lines for advice, but they gave me nothing.

"I don't wanna' talk about it," I grumbled and sank back into my bed. I thought perhaps I could fall back asleep and at least escape the pain in my head. It was so irritating that I began to forget the aches and pains of the fight. All I felt was the BPM of my nerves pounding out another truckload of pure headache.

"It's gonna' be okay, Warrior," Henry told me, "Believe me, I've been down your road. Sure it was against my will in a lot a' ways, but war's war. Am I right?"

My eyes suddenly widened and I stared straight up at the ceiling in a bolt of realization, "They're dead! They're all dead!"

I could not say why I was hit with the pain so suddenly, or why I was even letting myself open up to the old man again, but my heart was the next thing to be cast into a pool of stinging discontent.

"Settle down sonny," Henry said, "You're gonna' go down again."

"Well fucked if I care!" I exclaimed to him, blood rushing in my searing head, "I wish I was dead right now! I'd rather go down than see everything I ever cared about ruined! Oh God!" I shook my head violently and felt tears fill my eyes, "They took Snow! He was like a brother to me! Vermin! Cowboy! All of 'em! Dead!"

"Hey!" Henry rose up to try and calm me down, "Now you go relax and count to ten Warrior. Have some water while you at it."

I looked at him and grit my teeth. But rather than yelling again, I wiped my eyes with my finger tips and poured myself some water from a pitcher beside me. I let the icy liquid fill my hot throat, and was able to breath a little more easily for a time.

"Sorry, man," I apologized softly.

"Don't worry about it boy," he smiled again, "You got the right ta' let out some steam."

I smiled a little bit to and looked out the window at the afternoon clouds. I let out a sigh and then turned to Henry.

"So what are you in for?" I asked in a calmer tone.

He chuckled softly, "I'm old Warrior. This is the right scene for me."

"You're dying?"

"Don't say it like that boy. You make it sound so final."

"Sorry."

"Look, I'm not gonna' say you're in any better condition than me. I'm just a little off balance for now."

"I hear ya'," I said, doubting how sound his condition truly was.

I decided to get some rest and try to piece together what had happened. It was as though my entire body shut down. Perhaps it was all the hits I had taken, or maybe I was poisoned at some point, or even a chance that I fainted seeing my life torn to shreds. All of which seemed plausible, but I decided to repress it for the time being.

Eventually, a doctor showed up before me and gave me the news as he read off of a clipboard.

"Umm, you are Taj Abichak?" he asked me (ok, in actuality he butchered my real name's pronunciation, but I did not really care at that point. He was a white guy, so I expected no less).

I nodded my head in a half-awake stupor, "So what's wrong with me, man?"

He chuckled a little, "Well the bad news is that you've got a lot of stuff messed up with you."

"Then what's the good news?" I asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"I never said there was good news," he smiled (just what I needed, a funny guy), "No, no, no. Our tests show that you have a fractured shoulder, four broken ribs and two broken fingers, a sprained knee, spine and jaw, a broken nose, mild head trauma and lacerations, and gonorrhea."

I almost cracked up at the last one (thank you Mercy), but nodded my head for the rest as if it was no big deal. In essence, it was not, as I ended up surviving the endeavor.

"So if you don't mind me asking," I finally said, "How the hell did I end up here anyway?"

"Apparently your friends rushed you to the ER, but didn't stick around long enough to say what happened to you. By the looks of your bed pan, I'd say it was a combination of dehydration and exhaustion, but all those hits to the head'll keep you down too."

"Tell me something I don't know," I rubbed my bandaged nose, "So when can I leave?"

"Well from a professional standpoint, I'd like to keep you here for another three days at least," he flipped through his clipboard, "However, you don't seem to have any insurance on you, so I'm afraid I had to call the police."

"What?" I asked flabbergasted.

"I had no other choice," he shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal, "It's policy. They'll deal with you."

"Fuck no, they won't!" I exclaimed and rose from my bed. I was sort of embarrassed at wearing such a queer looking hospital gown, but I meant business with this guy.

"Get me security please," the doctor signaled to one of the nurses in the hallway, but I was not going to let him get away. I picked up a nearby chair and chucked it at him with all my might. The wooden seat broke on impact and pressed the doctor against the wall before he fell to the floor in unconsciousness. I heard screaming from the nurse as he fell, and I ran for the door in a confused state. Everything was sore on my body, and I was running on pure adrenaline at that point. But even that was starting to run thin. I snatched a leg of the broken chair and was about to leave. But I was suddenly stopped as I looked back at Henry, the old black bum who would not stop staring at me.

"What?" I asked, still enraged.

"Put it down, son," he commanded in a gentle voice, "I know you don't wanna' be like this."

"I'll come visit you," I promised, "But only if I can get the fuck outta' here."

"I'd rather see you turn ya'self in. Why ya' think I keep tellin' you to stop all this?"

"I don't have time to chat," I told him, and ran for the stairs.

Apparently I was stationed on the fifth floor, and had to run down many flights before I reached the ground level (luckily I did not overdo it and end up in the morgue). From there, I ignored the screams and jeers from the people in the waiting room as I continued my march for freedom. I did not care what they thought of me, nor what they would say to one another at such a strange sight. I just needed to get the fuck out!

But as I reached the parking lot, I realized that I was all the way in Washington Heights, well away from Coney. Plus, I had cops on my ass for all I knew (although I may have figured pretty much every cop was already swarming Coney at this point in an examination of the previous night). I had no idea what to do, but I had to keep moving. Suddenly, I felt a warm drop on my bare foot. I touched my face to realize that my nose was beginning to bleed again. I felt as though nothing else could go wrong that would thrust me into a worse situation.

I rushed to the subway station, but in the crowded underground of the afternoon transit, I would need to pay to get through. I groaned in a bout of defeat.

"Are you alright," asked a woman in a gray business suit and high heels.

"I need to get home," I told her hopelessly, as if she was my mother.

"You poor thing," she had an unnerved look on her face, "There's a hospital not too far from here. Do you know where it is?"

I wanted to respond to that ridiculously stupid comment (considering the fact I was already in a hospital gown) with an overly sarcastic one, but I decided to keep my motive, "I need to get home first," I reiterated.

"Oh dear," she had another concerned look on her face as she searched through her purse, "Here honey," she dropped two dollars into my hand, "I really hope you can get home."

"Me too," I smiled, "Thanks sweetheart."

I was overjoyed inside. It was especially difficult to find somebody so generous in this city. If I could stop to thank all the little people that kept me through each day in the city, I would. But unfortunately, I tend to take more than a "thank you's" worth and owe more than an apology.

I rode the subway for a good twenty minutes, standing near the door. Try as I might, I felt self conscious no matter where I stood. It was then that I realized that my vest was nowhere to be found. Of course it was not, for it was most likely confiscated by the hospital, never to be claimed again. I was filled with pain and unrest at that point, but only comforted myself by repeating over and over that I needed to get home. Perhaps then, I could sort everything out.

4:56 PM

When I finally arrived back in Coney, I stepped out to the streets on the partly cloudy day and shivered a little as my bare feet continued on along the cold pavement. I felt so out of place on the train, but the usually cynical populous of New York tended to ignore me. How fortunate that I caught the right eye at the right time back in the station.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment and felt a cold chill trying to remember if I locked the door or not, as I had no key to show. Much to my delight, I did forget to lock it, and the door slid open as my soar hands twisted the knob. I stripped out of my hospital gown and bandages. I then located a towel and hopped into the shower. The warm water stung me, but in a sort of tender way. I saw some blood fill the drain, and I looked to see gashes on my legs were leaking slightly. But I figured they were better off clean, even if I was not entirely sure how sanitary the water I was receiving was.

After my shower, I dried off and grabbed my first aid kit again. I used the remaining bandages to stitch up my wounds and went to my dresser for some clothing. Without a vest, I instead grabbed a black t-shirt and brown pants. I then looked at my stove, but was surprisingly not as hungry as I thought I would be. So I decided to rest on the couch and listen to the radio. I needed time to sort out everything in my head, and I was not happy when I reflected. I felt the guilt of knocking out my doctor and the embarrassment of running across the city barely dressed. I felt the sadness toward Henry and all of my fallen comrades. I thought to myself that perhaps I would get tracked down by the police. After all, they had my name, and it was only a matter of time before they caught up to me. But then again, all of the police had to have had their hands full with the massacre in the park. At least I did not have to hear the clamoring din of crowds filling the streets. With that in mind, I let myself go to my overall tiredness and fell asleep on the couch.

8:32 PM

I was rudely awakened by pounding on my door as I rubbed my eyes, not wanting to actually arise from my slumber. The pounding was not pleasant, and it made me jump a little after every rap.

"Police!" came a voice from outside, "Open up now!"

I was terrified that they made it this far and would not let all my fleeing be in vain. I slipped on my shoes quickly and retreated out the window to my fire escape. I closed the window behind me and ran for the only place I knew I could seek refuge.

At the hangout, I busted through the first floor door, panting after running a few blocks. My legs felt like they were on fire, and I moved at a much slower pace ascending the stairs to the main floor.

There, I spotted Swan smoking a cigarette and staring out the window. He was bandaged on his arms and face, but still managed to sport his famous Warriors vest.

"Swan," I called his name softly.

"Hey, Turk" he turned to me and smiled, "We didn't think you'd show for a couple days."

"Bullshit, they were gonna' bust me if I stayed there," I pointed out, slightly irritated.

"Well what was I supposed to do? Let you rot like the rest of those miserable fucks?"

"It was nothing, man."

"Right. I'll bet you woulda' been fine then."

I smiled a little and looked out the window with him. He offered me a smoke, and I kindly accepted after getting my breath back.

"Been one helluva' day, eh?" I pointed out.

"It's hard to believe what happened."

"I know."

We did not exchange too many words, but we knew what each other was thinking. How we lost almost every lieutenant, and how the Riffs lost their leader. How the police knew us a little more personally, and that they were dangerously closer to busting us than ever before. We could sense that we were each thinking about the future of the gang, and what all the fighting did for us. We thought about how so many gangs bit the dust in one night, while we held steadfast for as long as possible. But the whole image was rather jarring, and I took in a big drag on the cigarette, rubbing my head in anxiety.

"So now the pigs know where I live," I told him after a few minutes, "And they wanna' see me busted."

"Shit," Swan said slightly concerned for me, "Hey, you can stay here 'til that dies down."

"That's what I hoped you'd say," I smiled again and inhaled once more. I decided I had nothing better to do but to keep a conversation going. After all, Swan and I had a jagged past, and it was at least worth trying to mend. Especially since we were few in numbers at this point, "Anybody else showin' tonight?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "Told them they could sit this one out. You surprised?"

"Nah. We all got a lota' shit to handle right now."

I waited another five minutes or so, enjoying the quiet delight of my tobacco. It helped me relax for the time being, and it was really all I could hope for. And in that frame of mind, I felt as though I needed to say something to my warchief.

"Swan."

"Yeah?"

"You remember when I said I used to go out with Mercy?"

"Yeah," he had a look on his face as if he were saying, 'Do we really have to talk about this?'

"Well I think you should hear the whole story on that."

"Why?"

"'Cause it happened a few weeks back."

"What? When?"

"Remember when you first got back from Vegas?"

"You piece a' shit!" Swan dropped his cigarette and marched at me angrily. I took an uneasy step backwards and almost fell over. I prepared myself for an attack, but my arms were tensed up and soar, so I could only look ready. I was not in the mood or frame of mind to duke it out with Swan again. But just as he was about to cock his hand back, he stopped and let out a sigh, "Sorry, man. She just drives me nuts sometimes."

"Yeah, I can tell," I said, peeved at his threat.

"Don't push it. Look, I shoulda' known better than to think that bitch could be faithful to me, or anyone else. Am I right?"

"Ummm... yeah."

"And she screwed you over too?"

I thought back to that one night stand we had and how much fun it was until it was all over and I was reluctant to believe it all to be legitimate. Perhaps I was just one of those sore old-fashioned people who believed in relationships.

"I told you, man. She fucked with all of us. She had me thinkin' we had something going, only to stab me between the eyes, then go after you guys."

"So we're both over her then?"

"I don't know. I really don't."

"What do ya' mean you don't know?"

"Swan, I made a bad choice, alright? I admit that. And just because it got my motor runnin', doesn't mean I should just forget about it."

He turned around put his hands on the wall, "I don't wanna' talk about this. Alright? Just drop it! That's an order young blood!"

I felt like I needed to make a stand, but he was my warchief and I did owe him something for getting me out of harm's way. But the words came anyway.

"I fucked her Swan."

He had had it. Swan pushed me over and I toppled to the ground. My legs buckled in pain, and my side burned up. He then stood over me and held me up by my shirt.

"Gimme' one good reason why I oughtn't snap your skinny neck right now?" he threatened me.

"Swan! Swan!" I frantically tried to calm him down, "This ain't like you, man! I'm tellin' you this 'cause I want to set it all straight, you know? There's nobody left to trust here! I want you to trust me from now on! You're a warchief! You're my warchief! I'd take a bullet for you, man! You led us to victory, and you're the only reason I'm still alive! You're a lifesaver, man! Don't take that away from me! Don't take that away from yourself!"

I was frightened for my life for the thousandth time that day, but I just said what I really felt about the situation. Swan gave me a stern look with teeth gritted, but he let me back down to the ground gently and even helped me back up to my feet.

"I'm sorry, man," he lowered his head, "I really have been a bitch about all this. Mercy... fuckin' Mercy... it's all because of her, man. I didn't know what I had backing me this whole time. Turk, what am I doin'?"

"Dude, it's all this shit we've had," I approached him, "It was all out there, and now it all looks like it's gone. But it's not. We can rebuild the gang and we can rebuild Coney. But we can't afford to let all that slip through our fingers over some bitch."

"You're right," Swan nodded and looked out the window, "It just seems impossible."

We stood there staring out the window at the brisk New York evening. I leaned against the edge of the large windowsill and lit a cigarette. It seemed like hours passed as we just looked out into nothing. At least it seemed like nothing to us.

"Where'd it all go?" Swan said, "Why now? We barely knew those fucks. Man, Cowboy joined up with me..."

"What about Rembrandt, man?" I asked concerned, "He was just a kid."

"Man... and he had so much talent goin' for him..."

"And Vermin... he _was_ my warchief before I met you."

"He died like he lived. Fast, but carelessly. That's Vermin for ya'. And Ajax finally took the fall. Bet he gave 'em one helluva' show."

"Hell yeah he did. And Snow..."

"Ole' Snowball..."

"He was there one minute, then bam," I snapped my left fingers, "Gone in a shot. Un-fuckin'-believable..."

"He really knew how to rumble, didn't he?"

"Man... he was like a brother to me. Went down like Rex did..."

"Who?"

I looked up at him asking me this question, but I turned away, "Nevermind, man..."

"You sure?"

"It's whatever, man..."

There was a long pause of silence as I tried not to shed any tears. Everything I once believed and fought for was gone in a night. My gang was my family and my friends. I felt like it should have been me. But I did not know what to feel. I just tried to repress the memories in hopes that they would burn up and fly away.

2:54 AM

June 26, 1980

Swan was on his way out the door, and told me I could crash on the training mats if I wanted. It seemed like a better idea than sleeping on the floor, or God forbid in a prison cell.

"Hey, man," Swan said before he took off, "I'm really sorry about all that shit back then."

"No problem," I told him, even though I was more than a little stressed about it.

"I'll find you here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"Okay," he paused on his way out, "Hey Turk," he turned and walked behind the TV. Then he brought up a red vest and tossed it toward me, "Thought you might of missed it."

I could not believe it, but my vest was back in my hands in one piece (well it was a little wrinkly, but who gives a shit).

"Oh my God dude," I exclaimed, "Thanks."

"No problem, man."

He turned and left, and once again, I was all alone with my thoughts. I wanted to sleep, but I had far too much on my mind to do so. I walked over to the window, gazing out dumbly, as I always did. I saw the bums rummaging through the trash as usual, but it did not make me laugh this time. It just filled me with sympathy and discontent. I could not understand why we always seem to turn down those different from us, but sympathize with those we think we understand. Perhaps it was all too philosophical to think about, but I could think of nothing else. Were my fellow Warriors really quite like me? Only a handful of them seemed to even actually feel like friends to me. Of course the whole idea of having the gang wiped out was a crying shame, but should the sympathy be spent on those I rather disliked this whole time? I did not want an answer; I just wanted to remember the good times.

I remembered how Vermin always brought over weed on Saturdays, and how Snow had a sweet tattoo of a wolf on his lower back. I remembered how Cowboy used to break out his harmonica, until it got stolen by some street bums that pick pocketed him. Rex and I used to throw eggs in front of the police station at 3 in the morning until we either got chased away, ran out of ammo, or got too freaked out to continue. I remembered how I once walked into Cochise with two white chicks in a car, and he told me to get lost. There was that one time where Ajax got drunk and kept saying he was in good enough shape to go get some more beer from the store. In a tragic effort to show he was not too woozy, he set up bottles on the floor and decided that knocking them down with his feet would prove his sobriety better than avoiding them as he walked. Then there was the time when Rembrandt swiped the hat off of a cop and spray painted it bright pink before cramming it right back on the fed's head. And who could forget the time when Cody nearly burned down the hideout when he tried lighting a cigarette after he was covered in oil from fixing his car. Hell, and that was when he had just joined.

I realized that Swan probably had many more memories with his comrades, and for that matter it was all the more tragic. I did not want to let them go, but like my conscious mind, it was out of my reach sooner than I had expected.

1:18 PM

I awoke with an uncomfortable pain in my neck and throat with a salty taste in my mouth. As I got to my feet, the pain in my legs started to fill once again, and I attempted to get up the stairs so I could rest in one of the chairs. I was starving and felt unsure if I should leave the building or not. Obviously, the whole area was a hot commodity for the police, and I did not want to bump into the wrong person at the wrong time.

Even though it did not seem entirely necessary, I decided that I might want to wear a disguise of some kind, or at least some sunglasses. After all, they did know what I looked like. I grabbed an old white and green baseball cap from under the pinball machine and stuffed my longish hair into it as best as I could. Then put on my jacket pulled out a pair of sunglasses, which I slipped on quickly. Before I left, I snagged a fist full of cash from a stash we had on one of the tables, admitting to myself that my need was greater than Swan's at the moment.

I made my way out into the June afternoon, which was refreshingly warm, despite the weather we had been confronted with previously. Coney was the perfect place for food on the go, and I was in high hopes of snagging a plate of friend chicken with a tall cola to wash it down. But when I got to where the concession stands normally are, they were all closed. In fact, there was almost nobody to be found except for several police officers. With my broken nose clearly evident, I decided that it would be best to not spend too much more time there.

So I hit the subway and headed north to Midtown. The underground was just as busy as ever, and I tried not to draw too much attention as I anonymously paid to get through and took hold of the hand restraint.

When I got there, I ascended the stairs to the streets, spotting the first street vendor I could find. At that point, I was so hungry I would have paid the hundred dollars in my pocket just for a combo meal. But I scrapped that thought and ordered a foot long hot dog with the works, an order of fries, and a can of root beer with about a dozen ketchup packets. Balancing all the items was a bit taxing, and the fact that I had cavalcades of people walking toward and away from me every second did not help.

I found a nice shady bench to rest on near a planter tree and happily laid out my soda and fries on the opposite side of the bench while clutching the hot dog firmly and taking a big salty bite of it. The sweet crunch of the sauerkraut and relish filled my mouth and stomach with glee, a feeling I had yet to have had over the past few days. I decided to break out the ketchup packets to make the meal perfect. Two were enough to cover it, and I scarffed it down far too quickly. I then cracked open the root beer and filled my mouth with the sweet drink. From there, I relaxed in the bench, staring out at the streets while sipping and occasionally choosing a fry to be consumed. It was a good time to relax and unwind, even if the sounds of the city represented another busy day. What did it matter to me? The peace of mind I had knowing that my only responsibility was in which fry to eat next was an unimaginable relief.

After the quite satisfying lunch, I decided that I had enough time to take care of some unfinished business. It was not something I wanted to do willingly, but I knew I would regret not doing it later. Besides, it was not like I had anything better to do in Coney.

The train got off in Washington Heights, just like the day before and my only hope was that I would not get recognized, especially here of all places. But I made a promise that I was not at liberty to break.

I entered the hospital and gazed upon a charter on the wall at the patients on each floor. My eyes rolled over the fifth floor (if my memory served me correctly) looking for a "Henry".

Finally, I spotted him as "Henry P. Emerson" near where my name was crossed out. With this knowledge in mind, I walked right up to the front desk and asked to visit the bum.

"Hold on a moment," said the modestly attractive, blonde receptionist in a light blue top, "Let me check his visiting hours."

"Alright," I said, a little impatient at the circumstances.

She talked on the phone with another staff member, responding with a lot of lines like, "Really?" or "Ok". Then she hung up the phone and told me what I wanted to know.

"Did you say Henry Emerson?" she asked me.

"Yeah."

"Oh, he passed away this morning," she said rather business like with a slight hint of sympathy. But it was not sympathy like how one would show it toward somebody who experienced a loss. It was more like sympathy for a person in a restaurant who got pickles on their burger when they asked for none. I did not want to claim blondes to be dumb, but she was not helping her cause.

"Oh," I took a step back and rubbed my chin, "Well thanks anyway," I awkwardly turned and left the hospital.

There was a irritating itchy sensation under my arms, and I scratched it realizing that it must have been produced from my overall discomfort. It all seemed sort of surreal to think that somebody so unfortunate and so rarely visited had the potential to, and very well did make me really stop and think about my life. Which was not to say that his advice was enough to make me change my ways, but it was really one of those things that makes you stare down at the sidewalk and whisper "God dammit," to the concrete. It was a shame, just not a crying shame as far as I was concerned.

I took the train back to Coney soon after trying to at least take comfort in the fact that I was never recognized. But it all just felt like a shallow victory, and I crashed on the training mat in the hangout.

9:37 PM

Time passed rather slowly in my seclusion, as I did no more than lay awake staring up at the ceiling. After spending far too much of that time familiarizing myself with the topography of the foam ceiling tiles and layout of the rafters, I took several moments to get up and stretch out, assuring myself that the guys would be here any minute.

There was just this stinging aura about like I would have to live in a world of loneliness, simply because life turned out to be too short for some. And at what benefit did this cost pay, besides survival? It all did not click for me, and quite honestly, I was feeling fed up. It just made me feel angry all of a sudden, and I wanted to break something. Luckily, I released most of it onto the punching bag and wore myself down as my side began aching. I held it and felt my face get hot. For some reason, I started crying. It was not something I did often, nor was it something I was very proud of when it happened.

I ascended the stairs and looked out into the night, hoping that nobody would show up too soon and see me like this. But at the same time, I just wanted someone to comfort me. I was just a broken mess, and it only made the tears come faster. But my sorrow was now a more reserved, miserable feeling that only made me lean against the wall and sink to the ground. I curled up with my arms burying my face. I sobbed softly, trying to gather any sort of happy thoughts. I guess it had only just occurred to me that everything that had happened to me in the past few days was all a big shock. A shock that only broke through every so often unto me. But I had to accept it all at this point. I don't cry for any other reason. The war, the fighting, the punches, the kicks, the blood, the friends, the enemies, the grudges, the rivalry, the youngbloods, the death, the gang, the city, all seemed to be gone. All tossed into a bottomless pit of paranoia and aggression.

Who was I? How could I have let all this happen? I knew it was not my fault, but who else would rise up and take responsibility at this point? Did my parents raise this monster? Did this city raise these armies or the night? Can a monster cry? Can he weep for his hardened comrade, let alone his ruthless enemy?

I had enough loneliness and dead quiet to last a lifetime, but from what I've experienced, that lifetime isn't as long as one would think. Loneliness: my greatest enemy. I craved a woman's touch once again and unreluctantly, but unproudly, thought of Mercy. She felt like the closest thing to heaven that I would ever hold in my arms. She awakened a young, teenage schoolboy who only wanted one sweet kiss. A kiss in the sunset boulevards of a romantic movie. And it was not like she was acting as a substitute to Rex because she gave me something he obviously couldn't, and I loved her for it. But the truth hurts sometimes. Even when you think somebody understands you, you realize that you can never understand them.

A goddess with a venomous kiss, lord have Mercy.

Just as I wiped my tears and stood up, Swan walked through the front door. He had two six packs of beer in his hands and dropped them on one of the tables. He then walked up to me, as I leaned against the wall acting as casual as possible.

"Hey," Swan greeted me, "This place good for ya'?"

"Training mat's a really bitch on the back," I laughed rubbing my spine.

"Ha ha," Swan smiled, "I'll bet."

"So what's goin' down tonight," I asked, cutting to the chase.

"Funeral at eleven," Swan sighed, "We ain't got no bodies, but we can at least make a showing."

"I hear ya'," I sounded a little melancholy, but tried to crack a smile, "We'll need a goddamn whole pigeon."

He laughed a little and went to get a beer, as did I.

11:03 PM

When we all piled onto the sands hoping to God our ceremony would not be interrupted by police, we built a small fire and let Swan take the stage, so to speak. Only a handful of us were there anyway, and we knew only too well that we were remembering more people than spending the moment with. But eventually, such is the case with a cemetery. This time, there was no Ajax obnoxiously waiting for it to be over, nor Cowboy twanging his guitar. No Vermin carving names, nor Rembrandt making memorable graffiti. It was just cold and quiet with the familiar sound of waves crashing.

"Warriors," Swan stepped forward, "I don't need to tell you that we've lost a lot of men in this war. Some were ours, but most were our enemies. And to see these crazy bastards of ours finally bite the dust really gets to me. But remember why they went down. It's the same reason you guys fought. We did it to defend our name, and our gang. I know it didn't feel like a victory, but it was. And any of you dudes standing here tonight are official lieutenants. We gotta' stick together, and you youngbloods deserve it."

There was a small clamor of happiness from Leos and Dozer, as well as other youngbloods happy at their promotion. Crash was unmoved, as was I.

"There're too many faces to remember, so we're gonna' cut this whole thing a little short. But I want you guys to take some time to remember the Warriors that died for you."

Swan decided to end it there and took out a knife, where he proceeded to carve some names into the list of fallen Warriors. I watched him put Cowboy, Vermin, Snow and Ajax on the list before I went with the other Warriors back to the hangout. Swan did not seem to mind.

12:02 AM

June 27, 1980

"Well here are the results, babies. It's been a crisscrossin' story with no real word, but I'm here tonight to say what I've heard. I don't care what you heard, and I don't care what they said, cause the NYC Grudge can't beat Warrior red. Well I'll be. Didn't think those boys could pull out another miracle. This next track goes out to you, Warriors. Hope you keep on boppin'. I'm out."

The radio DJ then played Joe Walsh's cover for "In the City" (yes I know it was originally by _The Eagles_, but they made two versions).

It was June 27th at last and I could not believe it came so quickly. I was so preoccupied that I did not even realize that it was my birthday. It was official. My teenage years were over as I turned 20 on this day. It was a somewhat surreal, and altogether overlookable thought, as age is only a number. But to see one's years as a teenager move into the history books is kind of upsetting. Again, the feelings of regret were crawling up my back, but I had a beer in my hand and cheers from my friends to help me forget about it. Let us celebrate our victory for this moment at least, and leave all the angst and regret behind.

The Warriors and I were cheering happily when we heard the news of our victory over the radio, since it was normally the official word on the street, and no gang was going to mess with us again from that point on. But on reflection, there were not too many more gangs left standing in the city. It was at least nice, however, to not be so unhappy about the situation, especially compared to the wreck I was earlier. Like many nights before, all I needed was a beer and good friends to get me through the night. Throw in a clear win fight, or a beautiful girl, and I can consider myself really living.

After about an hour or so had passed since we left Swan out on his own, he finally returned with a rather distressed look on his face. It was rightfully so as he had the closest ties to his fallen comrades. He was the last of the original four, and it was clear that he did not want to be. Whether he sulked or not was not up to me to decide, but I knew he had a lot on his mind, as he always did. He entered the hangout and grabbed a beer. He then took a seat next to me and we began talking.

"You alright, man?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he assured me, "Just gotta' let go sometimes."

"I know what you mean."

"I hope you do," Swan looked out the window and opened his drink, "So where do we go from here?"

"You're the warchief," I pointed out, "You tell me."

"Well you're my second now," Swan replied, "So you gotta' gimme' something."

"Really? You want me as your second?"

"Yeah, you earned it. Better you than Ajax anyway, right?"

"Right," I laughed, "Damn, and I thought I was hot shit when I moved up to lieutenant."

"Don't get cocky Turk," Swan said in a non-serious manner.

We talked for the rest of the night and planned out when and where we would be able to get our new members. This being New York City, there were new candidates every night willing to prove their worth, like lone wolves looking to join a pack. We decided where we would invest the rest of our money, and the rest of the time we just babbled about stories we had, and some of the guys we wrecked the other night. For the first time, I really felt like Swan accepted me, and it felt great.

5:38 AM

The night was over, and dawn was breaking. The beer was gone, and the stories were told. The bags were punched, and the radio tuned out. It was time for the Warriors to get back home. Well, all but me that was. As I bid farewell to all of my comrades, Swan stopped by.

"You gonna' be alright here, man?" he asked.

"Did it before," I replied, reluctant as I might have been.

"Alright," he turned to leave, but stopped again, "You wanna' hang out later today? We can put this whole Mercy thing behind us and find some nice broads."

"Sounds good, man," I smiled, "You know any good clubs?"

"Well I'm no Cochise, but word has it there's a sweet place in Midtown that just opened. Hey, wool is wool, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah, we should hit it later."

"Cool," Swan finally went to leave, "I'll catch ya' later."

But just as he went out the door, he shuffled right back in with a grim look on his face.

"Shit," he whispered, "We got cops."

"What?" I was incredulous, but looked out the window and found my fears met. There were about six police officers, and three cop cars outside the hangout. I started to shiver a little, "Did they get our boys?"

"I don't think so," he looked out the window as well, "They had at least twenty minutes to get ahead a' them. Besides, I don't see anybody gettin' busted."

"So they just figured out this is where we meet?"

"Guess so."

"What do we do?"

"I've got an idea," he rubbed his chin, "But we gotta' get past them first."

"I meant how do we get by them?" I protested.

"We run for it," he scanned the number of cops outside carefully with his eyes, "Can you do that?"

"Depends how far."

"Not too far," he assured me, "Just follow my lead."

"Alright," I looked back at our hangout, "We ever gonna' come back?"

"We'll get a chance," he said, "Just need some time."

"Ok, man," I nodded my head, "Let's go for it."

We opened the second story door and decended the stairs. The cool summer's morning was pretty dark, but the sun was slowly rising near the ocean's horizon. It was a little hard to see, but I did not need to know where I was. I only needed to see where Swan was going.

"C'mon," he whispered and took me on the other side of the building to where the other fire escape to the rooftop was. I felt odd descending one set of stairs, and going up another right after. But as long as I could keep up on my weak feet, I was good to go.

On the rooftop, we scrambled to take off the tarp of the helicopter and climbed in swiftly. Swan turned it on and worked the engine to get the blades moving. After about ten second of idle waiting, I was getting nervous.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" I screamed over the loud spinning.

"We'll make it!" he screamed back, "Just hold on!"

"Those cops are comin'!" I looked out and saw police running up the stairs. My heart was pounding, and I feared we would not make it. One of the officers ran for the helicopter, and I was panicking. Then he opened the helicopter door and grabbed me first. He had me by the shirt, and I tried to fight him off. But in all honesty, he was overpowering me. He yanked me out of the helicopter as more officers came. He then began cuffing me, and all I could think about was that I was so close to getting away. Perhaps it was my time to get carried away. But as soon as that thought filled my mind, Swan left his seat and began wrestling the cop off of me. The other two tried to stop him too, and I got up and looked to see a fire extinguisher in the helicopter. I snatched it and ran to Swan's aid as I bashed one cop over the head as hard as I could with the device. I then sprayed another in the face as he went for me and gave him a whack across the face. Swan finally got the cop off of him and threw him off of the roof. He only fell three stories, so there was a chance he would come back for us. With this in mind, we ran for the chopper, which was already prepared for takeoff. My heart was racing, but at least we made a clean getaway.

"You alright, man?" Swan yelled a concern.

"Yeah, I'm good!" I replied just as loudly, "You?"

"Good enough to fly this thing!" he smiled, "You won't nag at me if I make a wrong turn like Mercy did, will ya'?"

"I hope not!"

"So where to?"

"Beat's me!"

"Let's go get some breakfast somewhere!"

"Sounds good! I'm in the mood for eggs!"

I stared out at the city from above. It was a magnificent sight as the sun began to rise. Building tops were getting bright along Manhattan, and I watched them sort of turn on like light bulbs. Then I noticed something interesting about some of the buildings. There seemed to be something distinct about the tops of a choice few of them. As the altitude climbed, I was beginning to see some sort of pattern, and when I finally did, I gasped.

"Hey Swan!" I called his attention, "You might wanna' look at this!"

"What?"

"Look down there!" I pointed at the building tops.

He hovered the helicopter for a few seconds, then saw what I saw and dropped his jaw.

"That explains where Rembrandt's been all this time!"

"Guess so!"

Below us, spanning about 30 blocks, were buildings with their tops covered in red. When I first saw this, I thought nothing of it. Then I saw that all of them were lined up to form a diagonal line. But later still it all made sense as the building were lined up with painted rooftops to form a gigantic red "W" along the buildings. It must have been the biggest burner Rembrandt had ever completed, and I was amazed to see it. I quickly wondered how long it would be there, but for the moment, it meant a lot to me. After all the fighting and aggression and sacrifice, it all made sense to me. This was my home, and this was my family. This was everything I held dear, and everything that held purpose to me. It was what I fought for, and what we stood for. To see that red letter sent a chill down my spine. A good chill. And no matter how much rep another gang gets, we would always have our calling card smack in the middle of the city. This was Coney, my home, and my life. And if the summers are hot, and the streets still ice cold in this big city, the Warriors will be back for more.


End file.
